GAVIN FRIDAY The Light and Dark I by Caroline van Oosten de Boer II 1 CAROLINE VAN OOSTEN DE BOER GAVIN FRIDAY THE LIGHT AND DARK Von B Press 2003 (original publication 1991) II 1 Von B Press P.O. Box 92087 1090 AB Amsterdam The Netherlands First edition published 1991 © Copyright Von B Press 1991 Revised edition published 2003 © Copyright Von B Press 2003 Cover photo by Lex van Rossen Design, lay-out by C.C. van Oosten de Boer All lyrics from Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves reproduced by kind permission of Island Music Ltd © 1989 Blue Mountain Music Limited All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the permission of the author, except for a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. 2 3 Question: Who are you? Gavin: Who the fuck could answer that? for Dave-id and all my friends 2 3 4 5 4 5 Preface THE LIGHT AND DARK is not a biography, but seeks to document a few years in Gavin Friday’s artistic life. I believe in documenting music: a musicians’s work should be recorded on tape, on film or video, with photos — in words, lest it be forgotten. I feel there is a lack of documentation of Gavin’s work, so I started on this book hoping to capture something of that part of his career which captured me. I first met Gavin one very hot summer afternoon in Amsterdam, outside the Roxy, one of the city’s hot dance clubs, where he was playing a try-out gig. It was a low-key affair which had only vaguely been announced a few days in advance. I had set my mind on meeting him ever since I had seen him perform on television. I remember watching it, nailed to my chair in a room full of people that had ceased to exist. Never before had anything on a TV screen hit me that hard. So, I went down to the soundcheck to say: ‘Hello, thanks for a brilliant album.’ Which is exactly what I said when he got out of the car, late, due to the recording of a radio session. He was slightly overdressed considering the heat. He wore a suit and tie and had sunglasses dangling from a cord around his neck. His hair was waxed shiny and he was carrying a handbag. ‘Oh, do you like it?’ he asked, apparently pleasantly surprised someone actually liked his work. He had a friendly smile and inquisitive eyes that looked straight into mine. Later I found myself a witness to a hellish soundcheck. It was hot, the band were tired, and working out the sound of a cello, clarinets, a piano, vocals and monitors is not an easy task, let alone if you are working with a soundman you have never met before. There was a lot of tension building up in that small place. I sort of crept into a corner trying to be inconspicuous. I knew very little about Gavin, being at that stage largely unfamiliar with his musical past. So I did not quite understand what he meant when he sat down and started telling me he was nervous about what the audience would make of his ‘new’ show. (Later, much later, a friend asked me whether Gavin had laid the ‘being nervous’ line on me yet!) I watched him as he instructed the guy doing the lights. He walked about, frustrated with the sound. At one point Maurice, his pianist, lost his cool and burst out in a ‘What is it now, Gavin?’, to which no reply was given. I watched as he arranged flowers; creating the right atmosphere for himself. I was amused when he sat down biting his nails. I listened to the four musicians arguing. And I watched him sing. I was in awe of his stage-presence, even then at a soundcheck. I was smitten with the whole thing. The voice, the act, the lillies, the cigarettes, the cello. Next to me two guys were joking about it, going ‘Look at him!’ They found him affected, his cigarette 6 7 a gimmick. Maybe so, but it all seemed very real to me at that time. First impressions are important, and although from what I saw that afternoon I gathered this guy could be a right bitch if he set his mind to it, I warmed to his charm. The concert that followed blew my mind. A man in a white suit; a blend of Bowie, Sinatra and Elvis; neither rock nor roll but seductive as hell. I got tangled up in it and wanted to see and know more. That same summer in Ireland, I saw a couple more of his shows and somewhere up in Donegal I decided I was going to see him perform as many times as possible and follow him through Europe, simply because I never got bored with it and happened to be in a position where I was able to undertake such a thing. One European tour later my good friend Patrick Lynch suggested I should do something with the many photos that I had taken and this was just the spark I needed. It was not easy getting this book done, having had no previous experience in the art of making a book. But then, nothing is easy in life Gavin would say and did say one day as I complained about the amount of bullshit I had to wade through in trying to get to where I wanted. The man himself did not make it any easier. There were no restrictions... apart from one ‘little’ thing: he did not want his musical past, the Virgin Prunes, mentioned. I agreed that this was the best thing to do, but avoiding the subject proved to be difficult. He insisted that it should be my book, not his, which meant he wanted no great involvement. He had agreed to help where he could, but communication was slow, to say the least. And so it is my book, my views and my ideas only. Gavin had absolutely no say in the choice of photos and illustrations, and played only a minor part in the writing of the text. In April 1990, Gavin and I were walking down Portobello Road in London, on our way to the Electric Cinema. The sun had come out and I was babbling away when we were stopped by an elderly woman in a crimson coat. Would Gavin see her across the street, she asked. Putting on his biggest smile, he took her arm and slowly helped her cross the street, the black of his coat clashing wildly with the red of hers. I fumbled for my camera, but the moment had already passed. ‘She would have had me walk her all the way home,’ he said after untangling himself from her. I mention this incident because it somehow ties in with his music and live performances. Maybe because he seems to be performing, even in the street, as if the whole world is his stage. Or maybe because of the colours that so dominate the scene. Whatever, it was a strong image that planted itself in my memory. Part of Gavin Friday’s appeal for me lies in the fact that he is a visually compelling artist. Agnes Bernelle has said that she does not sing with her voice alone, and I think this holds true for Gavin as well. On a good night, he is his song incarnate and not even film can capture that, let alone a book full of words. I hope for those of you who did not have the opportunity of seeing Gavin Friday play live on the EACH MAN KILLS tours, that this book will show you what you have missed out on so far and give you some indication of what to expect. 6 7 Acknowledgements I am indebted to my friends, who believed when I doubted: Pimm Jal de la Parra for setting an example and Sandra ‘Fastpint’ van der Laan for companionship on a musical journey, thanks for holding up the mirror in time. Fair play to my campaign manager Dave-id B. Scott who never failed to encourage me and my Dublin anchorman Patrick Lynch and Alison McDonnell for a home away from home, Caren Czwikla and Jörg Lipinski, Eleanor ‘Tomato Mike’ Simmonds, Kerstin Wögler, Guido Kaptijn, Loes Siewertsen, Carolyn Adams, The Megamen, Sarah Dawn Jones, Mr and Mrs Von B., Mr and Mrs Lynch, Leinster Square R.I.P., 109-II, Disk Doctors: J.D. and Annemiek, Paddy, Padhraigh, James and all at the Docker’s, Angela Kelleher, The Wailing Wall: Maurice Roycroft, Sarah Homer, Julia Palmer, Agnes Bernelle, Bill Graham, Simon Carmody, Charlie Whisker, The Benzini Brothers, Johnny Lappin, Paul Tiernan, Charades in a darkroom: Strongman — well sussed but unquoted; Mary; Cölm Bölm and Justin Valley Limberg, Mick Quinlan — D.A.A., Klaus Maeck, Het Gebeuren: Maarten Slagboom, Ruth Jäger, Twist and Shout: Marcel, Werner Kok, Ed Jansen, Scott Hickey for spit & polish, Monica Schindler, Sigrid and Dirk, fans and pen-pals world-wide, Bernard Rübsamen, Carole Egan — In Dublin, Dr David Nowlan — The Irish Times, The Irish Independent, Nial Stokes — Hot Press, The Dublin Grapevine, Regine Moylett — RMP, Tony Orchudesch, Anton Corbijn, Stefano Giovannini, Lex van Rossen, Huw Thomas, Dolph Cantrijn, Steye Raviez, Roy Tee, Rob Verhorst, Inge Bekkers, Conny Slegers.