Transmission Accomplished

Old punk Ian Lowey makes some extraordinary claims on behalf of an old punk band, in an attempt to get you to turn on to Alternative TV

For me, the real and infinitely more colourful history of rock music is to be found out there in the twilight zone of the overlooked and half-forgotten: a place where the intrepid musical explorer really doesn’t have to search too hard to unearth musical gems dazzling enough to challenge the tiresome rock hegemony of the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Van Morrison, REM, U2 and the Sex Pistols.
Now I know it may be stretching credulity a bit to cite Alternative TV alongside such universally exalted company. This in spite of the fact that a strong case could be made for the ATV’s frontman, Mark Perry, being every bit as important as the Pistols in establishing punk’s credentials - lest we forget, Perry was the former editor of the extraordinarily influential Sniffin’ Glue fanzine. Nevertheless, I’m quite prepared to stick my neck out and say that tucked away on the flip-side of the band’s fourth single ‘Action, Time, Vision’ is a track which boasts one of the most extraordinary vocal performances in the rock pantheon. Of course, I’m aware that this an incredibly bold claim to be making; particularly on behalf of a man whom, it has been pointed out to me on many occasions, can’t sing. But please allow me to make the case...
Recorded live at the 100 Club at the end of 1977, ‘Another Coke’ is something of a curio in the punk rock canon. In fact, without Perry’s atonal rasp over the top of it, it simply wouldn’t pass muster as punk. For musically, it’s a slow-burning and more-than-competently played rock/ blues jam which owes far more to the sweaty pub rock of the day. Perry’s vocal delivery, however, is as stridently punk as a flying gob of sputum: a nihilistic stream-of-consciousness rant punctuated by south London glottal stops, it exists for posterity as an exercise in controlled and modulated anger.
‘It’s too bad I’m living...’ Perry pipes up at the start, over the lolloping bass riff and stuttering drums — and right away you know this ain’t going to be no picnic. But just when we begin to wonder just what Mark’s beef with life is, he’s gives it to us straight...
‘I’m fed up of living in a world where sex is the expected thing on peoples’ minds/ from lords and ladies, right down to my kind,’
From the outset, Mark Perry was one of punk’s most perceptive and articulate commentators. And as both a live favourite and freeform rant, ‘Another Coke’ served as a vehicle for him to sound off about just whatever irked him at the time. For instance, in another version of the song, he’s fed up of living in a world, where...
‘I get stabbed in the belly by a ted just because of the way I look... and some guys come over from the other side of the Atlantic and play the Rainbow and they put out records on Elektra and Private Stock.’
Part of the fascination with ‘Another Coke’ is to do with whether these are really Perry’s experiences or those of an adopted persona. After all, in literature, first person narratives are not automatically assumed to be the author’s own experiences, so why should they in pop?
But anyway, back to the 100 Club, where Perry is off again on an even more impassioned (and perhaps unintentionally comic) tirade against ‘toffee-nosed gits’ in health food restaurants, who,
‘with their Time Out and their apple juice, tell me what we’re doing is art.Because A-R-T equals M-O-N-E-Y, equals corruption, corruption, corruption!’
He steps back from the mic and takes a breather, then picks up the thread again, more measured this time...
‘I notice all the hep cats in town; they love talking about it… they like pointing at it...’
But then the anger builds again…
‘they like printing my life story in five pages of Harpers & Queen, next to the jewellery from Harrods and the sick clothes from the King’s Road. They want me in their little picture book, they point, they stare, they always have a look’
But ultimately, they don’t care. Punk rock may be a bit of a blast, but the fashionistas are too busy shopping at Sex to really care about the likes of Perry/ the narrator. And so, he seeks to obliterate everything with, ‘another coke… straight up my nose’ as the guitars crank up as though they’re about to launch into some kind of hackneyed boogie blues riff before tailing off with an understated crescendo of cymbals and a gentle ripple of applause — so ending one of the most compelling pieces of rock and roll psychodrama ever committed to vinyl.

Photo by Steven Richards @ www.rockphotos.i12.com
© Nude 2005. This is an abridged version of an article that appeared in Nude issue 6 (April/May 2005)