It started in a record shop. Friendship and bands often do. I had just started work in Hebden Bridge, one of the ‘funkiest’ towns in the world (Highlife, the British Airways flight magazine, May 2005). It also had a funky record shop, called System.
I called in one lunch time. There were thousands of records but barely any room to move. I could tell immediately (the cardigan, the haircut) that the assistant was a fan of The Smiths. We got talking. We never stopped. He said he was called David Cooper. He recommended Love is Hell, the debut album by Kitchens of Distinction and Hope and Despair by Edwyn Collins. I loved them both. Still do. We enthused about The Go-Betweens, the Pale Saints, the June Brides, The Wedding Present and spent ages trying to work out what Happy Mondays were doing on the track, The Egg.
After a few weeks, he told me about his band, The Last Peach. I was through with being in bands. I’d previously played guitar in a nearly-made-it group, The Monkey Run. We’d done a BBC Radio One session, supported The Stone Roses, The Wedding Present and The Chameleons, but had come to standstill. I suppose me and David were doing the talk-dance that people do before they come together and forge a relationship. Our phone conversations (remember them?) lasted more than an hour; my arm and ear ached afterwards.
The first track we finished was called Patterns and I saw it as a perfect amalgamation of both our songwriting styles. My approach was more atonal and abstruse, whereas David had a genuine musicality and sense of melody. I liked his voice straight away – it was later described by a music journalist as ‘epicene’ which I could understand. I heard Peter Perrett of The Only Ones, Pete Shelley of the Buzzcocks and Michael Quercio of The Three O’Clock in his voice. We augmented the line-up with two lovely people, Darran Sharp on bass and Peter Betham on drums. Darren had played in a previous version of The Last Peach and Pete had drummed with The Monkey Run.
As we set about writing a set, I rediscovered the energy and enthusiasm of old. David’s lyrics were great – unpretentious but ambiguous, as if you were hearing only one person in a two-way telephone conversation. Rehearsals were noisy and fun, either in David’s dad’s cellar or in a barn high on the moors above Mytholmroyd.
Our two vinyl EPs – Jarvis and String Like – released on Pomona Records (a label I had formed with a pal), comprised strong, idiosyncratic songs. They secured us a reasonable amount of press and led to gigs supporting the likes of Pulp, Kingmaker, Meat Puppets and The Mock Turtles. We appeared at most of London’s ‘indie’ venues – the Camden Falcon, Bull and Gate, the Mean Fiddler and a peculiar pub in Greenwich. We had some memorable nights and laughed a lot.
The Melody Maker championed the band and one of its writers, Jim Arundel, made us a ‘Tip for ’93’ with Pulp and Suede.
Since the band, I have continued to record as Black September and Black Sedan, but my main focus has been on writing books. David has spent his time running the estimable Melodic Records and In House press. It’s almost 30 years since we recorded this music and I’ve always regretted that we never released an album at the time. How lucky we are to be alive and able to do this now. The wait was worthwhile.
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