3. hero & villain
Catching crabs Lowestoft resident & Darkness drummer Ed Graham talking about his coastal sporting pleasures
Miscellany of design and image highlights from issue #3
Courts section looking at who was up before the beak
Cover story how and why the issues cover was made
Dibbler top tips from our man in the stables
/ cover story /
Freelancers
A classic example of not having any pictures of our cover stars but needing an image to fill the front cover. I had been investigating heraldry for a collection of T-shirts for the Big Shoe Corp so I put together a fictional ‘armorial acheivement’, or coat of arms, to celebrate the majesty of the two knights of rap (whose rank is signified by the helmets) who were the subject of our article talking about the possibility of them making a record together. The shield is always the most important part because it is the only thing that reveals the identity of the knight during combat. This shield is blazoned with the tools of their trade. We’re still waiting for the album but there’s a collab here…
/ songbirds /
/ one roll of film /
I had never been to so many gigs in my life and I have been going to them since I was twelve years old. The only difference with the newspaper gigs is that most of them were rubbish and I hadn’t paid to get in. I’d usually get through a single roll of 35mm film on my beloved Contax G1 and get the fuck outta there.
1. ATP at Camber Sands.
2. Absentee shot on Hackney Road near Premises studios.
3. The Pipettes preening backstage at Brighton Komedia II.
4. Tree twig drawn on an Etch-a-Sketch™ for the Smog article.
5. T.Raumschmiere round the back of the Garage.
6. Kristeen Young in Beyond Retro, Brick Lane.
7. Smog portrait made on an Etch-a-Sketch™.
/ feature /
Crabbing: The sport of kings. You can keep your sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll; London’s fashionistas are all into it. Take Ed Graham, sticksman for rock revivalists The Darkness.
An East Coast boy, he was into the simple joys of crabbing way before the imitators swapped their frappucinos for ball and string in search of aquatic arthropods of the class Crustacea. Before the trendy set aimed their blacked-out Range Rovers at the Coast, there he was, catching crabs at the Mecca of crabs, Walberswick. That’s right – there is nothing Graham likes doing more than sitting on the dock of an East Coast bay, dangling his tackle in the water, waiting for crustaceans to take a bite.
SP: So, Ed – where’s the best place to go crabbing? The Wembley of the crabbing world? EG: It’s got to be Walberswick. Black Shuck country, right? That’s right. Have you ever caught crabs anywhere else? Stiffkey. There’s a bit of rivalry with Walberswick going on there. Where do you prefer to do your crabbing? Bridges or docks? As a child, I preferred bridges. Now I’m a man, I go for docks. Less windy. It’s more of a challenge. It really tests your crabbing skills. What’s the biggest crab you’re ever caught? A five-inch monster. Have you ever been out with a girl with a face like a bucket of smashed crabs? Of course not. But I’ve met a few. What about bait? Cheap back bacon? Crabs have a delicate palette. They prefer cheap, unsmoked bacon. It’s got to be unsmoked. We see. Delicate palettes. How about Italian prosciutto? Not that delicate. Nothing fancy. You’re a fanboy for Adnams Ale. Ever tried using it as groundbait? Not intentionally – I’d rather drink it. I may have spilled some, though. That’s always possible. The crabs do love it. Do you know who won last year’s World Championship at Walberswick? They have the World Championships at Walberswick? They do. I don’t know. I’m not an expert. I don’t follow the sport professionally. What do you do with the crabs you’ve caught? It’s catch and release. Always catch and release. You keep them in a bucket and let them go. So you’ve never been tempted to turn them into crab paste? That’d be a bad move. These are non-edible crabs we’re talking about here. You can’t eat them – they’d probably kill you. Anyway, I prefer a nice prawn cocktail. How do you handle your crabs? Pick them up from the back between thumb and forefinger. That’s the best way to avoid a nasty prick. I’ve heard the Americans put their bait into nets, wait until the crabs come to investigate and then just hoist the crabs out. Where do you stand on the whole net/line debate? Cheating or legitimate? Nets? Shocking. That’s commercial fishing. I’m purely recreational. Is it cheating? Absolutely. You prefer the noble contest between man and crab? That’s it. So what about tackle? We’ve heard a rumour that you prefer to use ironmongery rather than the more traditional East Coast stone-with-a-hole-through-it-you-got-off-the-beach and twine approach? As a youngster I dabbled with the string weighed down with nuts and bolts method. Never used stones. It just doesn’t work. The last time I went crabbing with a friend who used a stone, even my girlfriend beat him. He was humiliated. He’ll never crab again. That’s all you need to know, really. Do crabs migrate? Do they go south for the winter? We heard a rumour that they marched across the A12 in their millions. I don’t know. I just catch ’em. Some rockstars, when they retire, open pubs. Ever been tempted by a shellfish stall on Cromer pier? I’d rather have the pub anyday. Did you know the European Union has banned the catching of small crabs. Is this political correctness gone mad? No. It makes sense. If you catch all the small crabs there’d be no more big crabs. And who’d want to live in a world without crabs? Exactly. There seems to be a crabbing theme running through the Darkness’ material. Isn’t there a giant crab in one of your videos? That’d be the video for ‘I Believe In a Thing Called Love’. Not many people know that our little-seen video for ‘Friday Night’ also features a crab. We like crabs. And isn’t ‘Growing on Me’ about crabs? I heard a rumour that it was about genital warts but I’m not sure…
Words by MARK DAWSON Photo & montage by MICKEY G
/ courts /
All newspapers have a ‘Courts’ section and rock ‘n’ roll has never been short of stories about musicians getting arrested, so we were spoilt for choice when it came to content for this page.
/ dibbler /
Dibbler’s been a naughty boy. Dibbler’s forgotten to do his homework. Dibbler should be punished. Oh, go on.
Yes readers, instead of grafting away at my tipping business I’ve been focusing my attentions on the paddock and the fillies therein. As you know, I’m a sucker for the species: you just cannot beat the sight of an attractive filly coming into her summer coat. So, please forgive the absence of tips this issue. Instead, indulge me and I will give you a brief rundown of the form, runners and winners at the recent Mojo Awards, which I attended last week.
As you would expect at a ceremony devoted to the maturer listener, there was a paucity of young flesh and other diversions. I don’t know about class ‘A’ drugs, but there were some class ‘A’ mingers I can tell you. Thus was I able to focus exclusively on the musical aspect of the event, or so I thought.Now, the bookmakers were not offering odds on any of the runners so, as the gamblingest man at the event, I stepped into the breach and opened a book on the feature, the Mojo Icon Award. I laid Siouxsie Sioux at 5 to 7 (round the back of the canapés tent, just before kick off) and soon found more action in the form of a £100 win bet on the favourite. The chucklehead behind this caper must have had insider knowledge. He won.Suitably chastened, I stalked off to the bar and donned my whisky goggles (single malt for best results). Within minutes, sagging cleavages became shiny ripe mangoes and the room was a jungle in which I was Mango-Hunter-In-Chief.Presently, a none-too-shabby bemangoed young filly planted herself beside me. Solicitous as a spider to a fly, I suggested that if she takes me back to her quarters I would happily muck out her box. Well, the wench demurred.Before I could launch plan B, the bounder who had skinned me on the favourite stepped up. “Punter,” said I, “the wench is mine – back off.”No cigar. “She’s my wife, you twat,” responded he.Well, no self-respecting tomcat out a-prowling backs down when faced with another of his species. I took a running leap and delivered such a blow to his plums as would fell a rutting hippopotamus. With a flourish to the damsel I made good my escape past the cheering crowds and out into the city streets.Well, as I said, I’ve been a naughty boy and my minders feel that I should not go unpunished. So we’ve devised a cunning way to resolve the issue. Readers are invited to choose my fate. Good luck.
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.
