Autograph
The Smiths, Morrissey, Ian Tilton
1988

I spent my early teens in my Stretford bedroom listening to Echo and The Bunnymen, Joy Division and anything jingly, jangly and introspective I could get my hands on; or whichever obscurity-knocks band John Peel was championing at the time. I didn’t enjoy being a teenager, and music was my escape; a cliché I know. Then my cool older sister bought me a single. It was called ‘Hand In Glove’ and it was by a band called The Smiths. I sort of fell in love. I was an awkward boy; skinny, shy and had been vegetarian from the age of 8. Not only did my vegetarianism cause me problems at home (“what CAN we feed him?”), it caused me no end of beatings at school (the delightful named Stretford Grammar School For Boys).
By the time I was 15 ‘Meat Is Murder’ was released and I honestly thought each song had been written for me. It was my life committed to vinyl…how did Morrissey know? I was lucky enough to get a guest pass for one of the dates on the tour (which meant a trip to the greyest city I’ve ever seen, Sheffield), via a cool older sister’s relationship with the drummer from Easterhouse, a sometime-support-band on The Smiths tour. It was the most thrilling night I’d ever had…a visceral, sexual experience. I was now a disciple: obsessed to the point of serious mental illness!

By the age of 16 I wasn’t ready to go clubbing but did anyway, and spent many a happy and unhappy hour in clubs like Devilles, The Venue, Placemates 7 and of course The Hacienda. By some twist of fate and a badly written CV I ended up working at Afflecks Palace during the Madchester period, and the advent of acieeeeeed. Smiley faces everywhere not least those of the t-shirt sellers and drug-dealers. Serving the likes of Sonic Youth, Happy Mondays and Gary Glitter I rubbed kneecaps with the stars and decided I wanted to be one myself.

While plotting my ascent in late 1988 I knocked on Morrissey’s Hale Barnes door and was allowed in to drink Earl Grey and chat about fashion, gardening and ‘Ride On Time’ by Black Box. He gave me a hideous shirt that he wore in the video for ‘The Boy with the Thorn in His Side’, which now hangs in the Smiths Room at Salford Lads Club. He wrote me notes in his spidery hand-writing, one a thankyou postcard you can see here, after I framed something for his 30th birthday). He gave me a cassette that I have never played which says on it ‘Smiths Rough Trade Demos’. He was every bit as esoteric, funny, charming and enigmatic as I’d hoped.
He gave me a t-shirt from ‘Everyday Is Like Sunday’, which I got Leo B to bootleg. Morrissey was displeased. I never heard from Morrissey again.

I left Afflecks in 1991 or so, lest I become another victim of Madchester’s ugly comedown; the gangsters were taking over.

Eventually I ended up managing a shop called McKenzie’s on King Street (and worked nights at Corbieres Bar on Half Moon Street; purely for fun you understand). I sold trainers and sweatshirts for a while before the death threats from knuckle-headed idiots forced me to re-think my career. I once had a chisel held to my throat whilst one particular goon argued over the price of a pair of Travel Fox Trainers.

I formed a band. What else can a poor boy do? The band was called Saturated and they were wonderful, to my eyes and ears but few other peoples. By day I worked as a conservation picture framer, and by night I sang on the pay-to-play indie circuit. Along the way we were semi-managed by Joe Moss (The Smiths) and Tom Hingley (Inspirals), had our pictures taken by Ian Tilton, were sneered at by Liam Gallagher, were feted by Craig Cash and Caroline Aherne, played lots and lots of sessions on the radio, and supported any middling mid-90s Brit-Pop band you care to mention/forget. Yes, Kula Shaker.
I got tired of playing every Saturday night at The Roadhouse to the same dreary faces, and decided it wasn’t my cup o tea. After going to a wedding reception at which the groom complained of the lack of decent cover bands, I decided to use my nouse and form an agency for wedding musicians. I slogged my wee heart out looking for non-cheesy bands and managed to find a few. At the same time, Ian Tilton and I had become good friends and I suggested to him that he display his archive as art, which we have done little by little over the past few years to great acclaim. I also managed to lure Stephen Wright out of Reading and thousands read my press release as we launched the print of the Smiths shot outside Salford Lads Club. I hung up my picture-framing apron on 2002 after realising I was in the cul-de-sac of all dead end jobs and decided to set up a business…
Now I run an agency for Rock Star Djs (including Mike and Andy from The Sm***s) called Brave Music and I listen to flamenco music for pleasure. But my toilet is still a little shrine to the past….Hacienda Flyers, Smiley faces and those four boys that changed my world.
Long Live The Smiths! The Queen Is Dead!