LONDON—Having never been in London before, I suppose I should feel some shame at spending my first night in a comfortably Americanish club called The Venue watching John Hiatt perform. I don't, though—in fact, it's the best display of clear-cut cultural differences I've found here yet: Hiatt is here on a one-off, playing this one-time-only solo gig as a warm-up for a show later in the week. That show will be Ry Cooder's—the same Ry Cooder who's won critical acclaim in his American homeland for years but has to come to the U.K. to reap his deserved 'superstar' glories. Oddly enough, Hiatt is a part of Cooder's current band—a situation not too far removed from the Dave Edmurids/Nick Lowe & Rockpile union that's brought me over here in the first place. Yet here I am watching John Hiatt, thinking about him and about Ry Cooder and about Rockpile and about everybody's respective homeland, and wondering what unwritten rule makes these performers 'dependable craftsmen' at home and bona fide rock heroes abroad.

And I haven't been able to come up with an answer yet.

☆ ☆ ☆

CBS has gone to considerable expense to whoosh this CREEM writer across the Atlantic tb witness the start of Rockpile's 'Seconds of Pleasure/Weeks Of Touring' tour, if you'll excuse the redundancy, and catch the boys in their home climes before they come over to ours. And I can't say I mind in the least. The big to-do, I suppose, comes in the fact that Seconds Of Pleasure, the Pile's latest, is actually the first official Rockpile album—as opposed to an Edmunds or Lowe solo disc—and therein lies the difference. With Edmunds' contract with Swan Song Records now no longer an obstacle (his final solo set for them due out in January), there's no need for messy inter-company diddlings or wondering who's going to pay who with what. There's no more.. .'and Rockpile,' just Rockpile— good enough for them, good enough for me, and good enough for record company accountants everywhere.

What's odd, though, is seeing the band for the fifth and sixth times. Having watched Nick Lowe and Rockpile open for -Elvis & Mink De Ville, Dave Edmunds and Rockpile open for Van Morrison, Nick Lowe and Rockpile back again with Blondie and finally Who Cares and Rockpile at the nonlegendary Heatwave Festival in Canada, I've caught the band at every possible opportunity and had time enough to consider the band, the music, the new record and more. Saw Dave Edmunds at a party in Detroit after their first tour; asked him the standard Anglophile questions about Love Sculpture, about who Warren Phillips & the Rockets rea//y were (Foghat), about all those great RCA 45s he did with diverse Welsh pals like Mickey Gee. Saw ace drummer Terry Williams at the same party and bored him similarly with drunken probes about Man, mid-70's fave band of mine that he'd managed to stay with through thick and thin for years. Nice people that they are, they answered all questions with smiles, something they'd be doing a few years later when I confront them on their home turf. Don't remember asking Nick Lowe about Brinsley Schwarz, though I did meet him—but if I'd had the chance, I'd probably've asked him what Ian Gomm had been doing. And I Wouldn't have recognized Billy Bremner if I'd seen him.

We've been really lucky up to now. —Nick Lowe

So much has happened since then, of course, that it hardly bears repeating. Lowe followed up his pop classic Jesus Of Cool/Pure Pop For Now People with Labour Of Lust, a fine but ultimately not-asgood sequel. In the meantime, his songwriting seemed to take a backseat to his production, which had already encompassed Stiff-ites like Costello, the Damned, and Wreckless Eric, and would later include the Pretenders' 'Stop Your Sobbing' and pal Mickey Jupp's second LP. Edmunds released Get It, Tracks On Wax 4, and Repeat When Necessary, and of course he'd already produced the best Flamin' Groovies LP since their first on Epic—the classic Shake Some .Action—and much, much more.

It would probably be some sort of perverted poetic justice if now, with all the group legalities swept under the carpet, the first official Rockpile album were a total dud; one listen, though, and you'll know it's not. Seconds Of Pleasure combines the strengths of the best Lowe & Edmunds albums and adds a third, very vital ingredient: Billy Bremner. His guitar-playing, very hot indeed/ has always been there on the Lowe & Edmunds sets, and his songs—not many, but good ones—can be found on Edmunds' Repeat When Necessary, as satisfying as Costello's 'Girls Talk' in their own way. What hasn't been heard before, though, is Billy Bremner's voice—arjd for my money, his vocal on Nick Lowe's 'Heart' ranks among the best ever from the band.

'We were trying to get a Dion & the Belmonts, sound with that,' Lowe would later say about the song, but, in fact, there's a lot more heart than craftsmanship involved here, for which Bremner deserves most of the credit.

The album is full of similar strengths, actually, and its only 'failure' at all might be the lack of pop that Lowe originally championed on his first album; stylistically, . Lowe songs like 'Tonight,' 'Nutted By Reality' and 'Cruel To Be Kind' have now taken a back seat to his more Rockpile-ish material like 'I Knew The Bride' and 'Heart Of The City.' To balance that, though, there's 'When I Write The Book,' which sounds like prime Brinsley Schwarz (circa Silver Pistol) With Rockpile's added instrumental kick, but—by and large—the nods to 'futurism' or whatever on Pop's 'Breaking Glass' and '36 Inches High' are nowhere in sight these days, and Rockpile skirt the delicate territory between revivalism and merely having a good time. Something they're aware of, to hear them tell it, and something they're trying to avoid.

☆ ☆

My first transcontinental brush with Rockpile comes at London's Lyceum, where the band is headlining over a very young British rockabilly band called Polecats. It's fascinating, really. Between sets 'Blueberry Hill' and a dozen more classic American tunes spew out of the p.a., and the London audience loudly sings along. Jane Berk, the CBS publicity person who's accompanying me, walks over to a person I point out who, it I'm not mistaken, looks like Bob Geldof—and lo and behold it is Geldof, who's stopped by to see the show and engages Jane in CBS record company chat. Very cozy> these London gigs.

Backstage after Rockpile's warmly-received set, I meet 'Tyrant' Jake Riviera, who seems not only not a tyrant but exactly the sort of wise-ass type he probably can't help but be considering the loonies he's got to work with every day. When I tell him as much, he smirks and says something like 'You can't believe everything you read' and goes about his business. Upstairs in the dressing room, I re-meet all the band but Edmunds and am introduced to Carlene Carter, Nick's wife and you know the rest. Terry Williams is talking with old mate Deke Leonard, Welsh pal who's guitared in the Jets and Man; I go over to say hello, pleased to finally meet Leonard, and he unleashes some of the strangest-accented Welsh/English I've ever heard. Always a diplomat, I answer his first question with a deeply-felt 'Well, it's been nice meeting you' and head for the beer. Later, Williams suggests I make it over to Dingwall's, the famous club, where the re-formed Pirates are playing. I do, and it's the most fun I've had in weeks.

☆ ☆ ☆

Next morning, my hangover is greeted with Divine Providence. CREEM legend Edouard Dauphin, overseas on 'strictly business,' has somehow managed to reserve a room in the Portobello Hotel, as I have, and even more strangely, is staying in the room next to mine. After he assures me that he's carrying no weapons, we take a „cab over to the London School of Economics for a very strange noontime excursion: a 'lunchtime' Rockpile gig. We drive past touristy attractions like Buckingham Palace and the So-and-So Arch and get there in time to ask directions; as I ask directions, a young Arab student and his friend behind me are discussing—and I'm serious here— the governors of West Virginia during the past 30 years. Meanwhile the Dauph and I ponder just where, exactly, West Virginia is.

"BUGGER OFF, TERRY! —Dave Edmunds"

Inside a crowded auditorium we find Rockpile playing to a very alert, very student-ish crowd. It's an extremely informal set, a one-hour excursion that, as I later tell the band, is probably about as close as this American boy will ever come to witnessing 'pub rock' in its classic sense. The band runs through standards like 'It's So Easy' and 'Hey Baby' and asks for requests; someone shouts up 'Here Comes The Weekend' and Nick announces 'Dave forgot the words...' Recovering from a lengthy cold, Billy isn't in the best of voice today—his hoarseness is especially noticeable during 'Fine, Fine, Fine.' The gig's thrown-together quality is as revealing as it is plain fun; Edmunds' past work in particular hafe always suggested a precision that's almost seemed somewhat cold (as in the much-underrated Subtle As A Flying Mallet) , and Lowe's fixation on pure pop hasn't really been any indication of how well together he and Rockpile function as a live, performing unit. Terry Williams especially shines, though he'll later admit that he thought the gig terrible, and what it all means is this: what makes the Seconds Of Pleasure LP most valuable is that, for now at least, it's the best indication of what the Rockpile band sound like live. And live, I must admit, after seeing them so many times, Rockpile is a band that has very, very few equals.

"I like being the underdog... —Nick Lowe"

☆ ☆ ☆

The crowd disperses when this lunchtime gig quickly ends—it's only an hour long, so that people can come and watch during their lunch hour and make it back to work in time. I hook up with CBS's Jane and we go back to the dressing room. The band makes plans to end up in my hotel bar, and Jane, Billy & his nine-year old son and another friend take a cab there immediately. We walk downstairs into the Portobello's baropen 24 hours a day, God bless it—and wait for the arrival of the other three-quarters of Rockpile. We order drinks.

☆ ☆ ☆

Within a half hour, the rest of the band arrives, Carlene, Jake and a few others in tow. It's at the very latest only three in the afternoon, and Edmunds—who's already played for an hour, mind you, so who knows when he had to get up that morning —is a grouch. Jake had said earlier at the gig that I'd be lucky to get three words out of him at this time of the day; later he does what he can to make his prophesy self-fulfilling. While the band readies to go off into a separate 'interview room,' Jake suggests a few questions for Edmunds to 'cheer him up': 'Ask him about Love Sculpture,' Jake smirks, 'he loves to talk about Love Sculpture,' followed by 'Ask him if he likes playing rock 'n' roll more than he liked being a gas station attendant' and other Graham Parkerisms and/or laff-riot approaches.

Eventually, though, as we talk—and as the beer flows, muchly—Edmunds warms up, and by the fifth time he's told Terry to stuff it or asked why Nick bothers answering questions (since 'everyone knows Nick forgets what he's talking about in mid-sentence'), the interview situation is truly fascinating. Fascinating because, if you're like me, you've read Nick Lowe interviews or Dave Edmunds interviews, but never a Billy Bremner interview or a Terry Williams interview; fascinating because, given the chance, watching the four of these people interact is more revealing than any album or live performance could ever be. What it's like, basically, is this: get three of your oldest friends in a room together, drink as much beer as you can, and start calling each other names until you don't make sense anymore. 'The journalist writes down the things he remembers/The things he forgets are the things you feeP is the opening lyric for 'Wrong Again (Let's Face It),' and an occasional journalistic fact of life. To prevent a similar situation, I plopped down my tape recorder on the table and let it roll—a wise move, because three hours later, when we finally finished talking, I was in no shape to write down what was going on, let alone remember it. Nor, from what the last half hour of the tape tells me, was the band.

☆ ☆ ☆

CREEM (as a grumpy Dave Edmunds is led into the interview room): Dave, your pal Jake gave me loads of great questions to ask you.

DAVE: Tell Jake to mind his own fuckin' business, alright? (smirks) Let's talk about him. He was a singer in a band called...what was it? Fun Shoppe? Anyway, I'm afraid he didn't have what it takes...

BILLY: They started at the bottom and worked their way down.

DAVE: He's a failed hippie. And I've actually heard his record, (to Nick) Have you?

NICK: Yeah, I have actually. I've heard it. (makes a dopey face) It's GREAT!

CREEM: Our American readers might want to know what's so different about the lunchtime gig you did today.

"There's nothing wrong in blatantly displaying your influences. -Dave Edmunds"

DAVE: It was unique because I wasn't actually a wa Ice.

NICK: It is quite easy to be flippant, but what he said is quite true. We had a late one last night, and none of us like to get up before the sun is wan.

DAVE: I can't even think about eating before it's evening, let alone a bloody gig. NICK: But I thought it was great fun today, because we didn't know what we were gonna do.

DAVE: In theory, it's great. It's like Mexican food—it seems like a great idea. It was Jake's idea, actually. His revenge. 'Fun Shoppe'—God, what a great name...

(We talk a little more about the earlier gig) NICK: What paper did you say you're from?

CREEM: CREEM Magazine.

NICK: CREEM Magazine! Fantastic! Why, CREEM Magazine, they're the ones... DAVE: (makes a face) Shaddup!!

NICK: Why, they're the ones that...

DAVE: Nick, when you're halfway through, you'll forget what you're trying to say...

NICK: No, they're the ones that...

DAVE: (to Terry and Billy) Listen to him... NICK: They're the ones who gave us a half a bloody chance when we didn't have jackshit goin' for us anyway...

DAVE: What was the point he was trying to make, anyway?

CREEM: Terry, how does it feel to just be a member of Rockpile now, as opposed to being part of Nick's or Dave's band?

TERRY: It feels pretty good. And it's about time, at least—four years.

CREEM: Is there less a feeling of responsibility now on Dave and Nick's shoulders?

BILLY: I dunno, Rockpile as it is now—and as it's always been—always had me sing a couple of songs onstage anyway. But now with the album, I get to sing a bit on there, also.

NICK: That was really it, we wanted to— DAVE: To let someone else take the blame...

NICK: Yeah, and now Billy is sort of the 'secret weapon'...

BILLY: And as I've lost my voice, you could call me a 'hoarse with no name!' (Big laughs follow)

NICK: I'll tell you what I think about Rockpile in America. We've been really lucky up to now, especially with the support gigs that we've done. There was Bad Company—and we got thrown off that tour. There was Elvis & Mink DeVille, which was when 'New Wave,' in inverted commas, came about, and then Van Morrison and Blondie. When Van Morrison threw a wobbler (obscure English term implying temporarily wacko) we had to get some gigs of our own, which we had a great time doing, they were only like tiny little clubs. We've got a great deal of goodwill going on over there for us. But when we go back to America, we're gonna be doing our first 'headlining' tour—it's not gonna be big auditoriums, 'cause we don't wanna play big auditoriums anyway, you don't sound particularly good in those places.

DAVE: You can't get good sound in an empty hall.

CREEM: Did you specifically divide up singing and songwriting duties for Seconds Of Pleasure?

NICK: It was whatever song came up that was a good song, one that we wanted to do and one that we wanted to finish. Whoever could sing it best and whoever was up for it. DAVE: And the schedule is such that there's not really time to think. It wasn't designed to be so many songs, in such-andsuch an order or way. That's just the way it filtered through.

NICK: Exactly. And that's why Dave sings most of the tunes we do—because he's damn good at doing it, damn good at singing tunes. And maybe I've written 'em, or Dave and me have written 'em, or maybe Chuck Berry. Whoever's the best singer does'em.

CREEM: It's more interesting that way. NICK: It's more interesting for me, too, 'cause he's gotta sing three-quarters of the set.

DAVE: But I must have asked for it. Like I say, it filters through that way...

CREEM: There aren't very many British bands that play as much American music as Rockpile does.

DAVE: Well, today was different—we wouldn't normally do 'Hey Baby' and 'It's So Easy.' We don't want to come across like, um, Sha Na Na.

NICK: Yeah. We're not a 'revival' band. CREEM: But how do you make that distinction, though?

DAVE: I don't know.

NICK: I don't know either.

DAVE: I just think there's nothing wrong with blatantly displaying your influences. But I like to tread a line somewhere, even if we have to create that line ourselves. Of not actually singing 'Blue Suede Shoes' or... TERRY: A Chuck Berry medley.

CREEM: But Nick, your two LPs at least in som£ ways have had a sort of futuristic, modem sort of pop to them, while Dave's have all been relatively traditional. Do you think that as far as being a pop songwriter, the Rockpile four-man format is confining for you?

NICK: (pause) Well, I suppose...In a way, the answer is yes. But because when you're in a group—which is what we always wanted to do—then the guy who's best at doing something does it. If you've got someone who's a crackin' singer, use him. Dave is a crackin' singer, and Billy is as well. But he doesn't want to sing all the time. I haven't got any desire to 'bring my art' to the public eye, or anything like that.

DAVE: (to Nick) That's interesting, though. Because the things we write—or the things you instigate the writing of—they lend themselves to doing them onstage. I'm just thinking that some of the songs you've done—especially the hits you've had, 'Crackin' Up,' 'Cruel To Be Kind' and 'Breaking Glass'—don't.

CREEM: Dave, are you writing much these days?

DAVE: No. You see, I've realized that I'm not a songwriter.

CREEM: People would disagree.

DAVE: No—not by vocation a songwriter. I may have contributed a song here or there. NICK: Well actually, Dave is a good songwriter. But what he's not good at is having that original burst, the original idea. And whenever Dave and me write together, it's because I've had the original burst, or a verse and a chorus, and he just totally finishes 'em off, he'll say 'Oh, knock bit out.' He just needs some encouragement.

DAVE: Yeah, it used to really worry me that I couldn't churn out songs, because I know exactly what kind of songs I'd like to write if I could write. I've studied songwriting, 1 know everything about songwriting, but it's so hard to write the fucking things.

CREEM: You might have studied too much.

DAVE: That's probably it. I've gone 'round the house and come back again, and that's it. I just have to accept it. There's no point on getting uptight and worrying about it anymore. I'll just have to sing the songs and play the solos and...

(This is about as self-effacing as Edmunds gets for the duratidn of the interview; later random targets include Nick, Terry and Billy. Further discussion ensues re craftsmanship vs. originality and the British broadcast of 'Heroes Of Rock & Roll,' which both Billy and Nick swear ignored Eddie Cochran, while Dave, as always, disagrees. The flow of beer continues, and Edmunds has cheered considerably. Says he: 'I'm gettin' pissed!' He takes leave to find a bathroom.)

CREEM: How did you all enjoy working on Carlene's new album?

BILLY: Oh, that was great.

NICK: Yeah, but for me, though, it was a little embarrassing.

TERRY: (to Nick) No. Hey, that was just like Rockpile. Just like we were saying earlier on about the Rockpile album, Carlene's was a Rockpile album, as was Micky Jupp's, as Nick's was, more or less. We didn't change anything at all.

NICK: The only thing, though, it that it was a little embarrassing for me because obviously I'm married to Carlene. And I'm a big fan of hers, too—but at the same time, it was hard for me to have to ask the other guys if they'd do it. 'Cause it'd be like [gruff voice): 'Well, my bird is a singer and she fancies makin' an album!' And the fact that Carlene is mates with all of us individually— and me, sporadically—made it more embarrassing. But of course, they did it. And there were a few bob goin' around as well, y'know? We all got paid for it and all that. And it was good fun.

TURN TO PAGE 51

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 25

BILLY: It was like an acoustic Rockpile album.

(Edmunds returns, overhearing)

NICK: [to Dave) We're talking about Carlene's album.

DAVE: Yeah, [guessed.

NICK: What do you think about that?

DAVE: About what?

NICK: About Carlene's album.

DAVE: I thought I was really, really good. 1 BILLY: You weren't as good as me...

NICK: (to Dave) Well I mixed you down on that quite a lot, actually.

[We start talking about how it's difficult to really pigeonhole Rockpile: the personalities occasionally seem to dominate the music,, the end result being an unpredictable combination of sounds and ideas.)' NICK: The thing about the Rockpile is: they're the last Beat group. Rockpile is the last Beat group that'll ever happen. 'Cause people put groups together now with adverts in the back of Melody Maker, 'must have hair and passport, no punks' and all that. Rockpile is the last group that's gotten together because they actually like each other and groove on what each other play. DAVE: We're trying to create a space for ourselves that... celebrates the beat and the old influences without being just a carbon copy or an instant replay.

NICK: I don't think that we ever actually thought—not that we're in a kind of Fleetwood Mac thing at all, and I don't think* we even want to be at all, but...

CREEM: Blit that band is a great comparison—another group with more than one personality...

NICK: Yeah, but I don't think we'd ever want to be as big as...

DAVE: Are you sure? Or is that just bullshit? NICK: No.

DAVE: You wouldn't love the Rockpile album to take off and sell 12 million copies? NICK: No, .I wouldn't. y

[significan t pause)

DAVE: What a liar. ,

BILLY: Come on...

NICK: Hey, I'm an old hippie here, and...

[a chorus of groans from Dave, Billy and Terry)

BILLY; (to me) Real lovely, isn't it? Everybody calling Nick a liar...

DAVE: (to Nick) It'd confirm all your hopes and ambitions about why the fuck you joiried Rockpile in the first place...

NICK: I like being an underdog, though, Dai...

DAVE: You are.

NICK: It's an inverted form of snobbery; I //ke bein' the fucking underdog..1. .

DAVE: We can arrange that.

NICK: Even now, though—I guess it's the coward in me. I don't wanna have to take two years to make another album. Or get freaked out.

BILLY: That won't happen, though. That's what's great about it.

NICK: Fuckin' right.

[We start in about record collections, and Edmunds talks about his 'interesting'r collection of American Chess and Checker singles, given to him from a staff executive at Pye when that label was distributing Chess and Checker in Britain. That's where he pulled Kip Anderson's 'Knife And Fork' from; 'That one stumped Andrew Lauder,' Dave brags. 'Andrew Lauder can't sing either, 'adds Billy.)

CREEM: I spoke with Bruce Springsteen recently, and we discussed recording methods and sounding spontaneous. Actually, Nick,;4 I was thinking of your go-in-and-pound-it-out recording philosophy. He said he thought spontaneity had more to do with sounding spontaneous than simply just pounding it out. . . ,

NICK: A very good point. I think Bruce Springsteen is fantastic—'

DAVE: Mind you, he spent three-quarters of a million dollars on his last album, didn't he?

NICK; I think he's fantastic, but I think he's got his head totally where the sun don't shine about that. Because if it don't work out in the first five bloody minutes—

DAVE: But Nick—you always say there are no rules. Make 'em up as you go along. NICK: No, that's true, there are no rules. But still, to worry about a drum sound like that—you should worry about the record, If the record don't work when everybody's playing it. If the drums sound bad, just leave it and see if the record works, and then deal with it afterwards. It's all over in a second. Last night, for instance, I was in this bar and they were playing Ry Cooder's new album. And I heard rave reports about it, and I'm a big Ry Cooder fan, I think he's very good indeed. But all this shit about digital recording—there was this big lump of digital fluff on the record needle.

DAVE: [smirks) It's amazing when you realize that Fats Domino spent three weeks trying to get the harmonizer on the highhat right on 'Bluebenry Hill'.. .

NICK: (disgusted) It's absolute nonsense. This digital piece of fluff came on the record and just rendered it all senseless—exactly the same as if.it'd been recorded ip a bloody four-track studio or something..It's bloody nonsense. And I think Pruce Springsteen's fantastic, but he's got nis head completely up his ass when it comes to making records. If the record works, you can soon find out—and then you can just bang in down. And then, sure you can always do it better, but there's a spirit there that I think people pick up on—ypur man on the street, your cop on the beat, your bum on the comer. DAVE: Have you heard this album? Seeing as how you've slagged it? Iwas just wondering...

NICK: Yes, I have. %

CREEM: Dave, do you and Nick see eye-to-eye about that?1 You've always seemed to me to be some sort of perfectionist, especially with the solo stuff or\ your Subtle As A Flying Mallet LP.

DAVE: No, the only reason that took longer than it should of was because I was playing all the instruments.

NICK: No, Dave and I don't see eyento-eye on quite a lot of things.

DAVE: [makes a face) YES WE DO!

NICK: No, even though I've stolen most of what I know about producing records off Dai—not stolen, I asked him if he'd tell me how to do a certain thing and then'—

DAVE: I said 'no,' so he stole it.

NICK: [ignoring Dave's rantings) No, actually WE DO DISAGREE QUITE A LOT. Especially now, since I'm kinda cocky—I do actually say 'Dave, you've got your head up your ass.' Of course, he doesn't take any notice of it whatsoever, and he's got the irritating habit of actually making his records sound a bit—well, actually quite a lot better than mine, (to Dave) No, we don't actually see eye-to-eye, do we?

DAVE: We fuckin'DO!!

NICK: Well, if you say so.

[I ask if this Rockpile album signals the end of solo LPs by Dave and Nick; they say no. 'I may stop for a bit after the next one, ' adds Dave. ''Cause I won't have the time or inclination to do it.' The drinks continue, and the conversation shows it: Edmunds calls 'The Wanderer' the 'Wondrr' and we start talking about ages.)

CREEM: Hey, you guys must be getting pretty old these days.

NICK: Well...[pause) Let me put if like this....

TERRY: [pointing to Nick and grinning) He's tbe youngest of the group and he's 31. NICK: No, umm...I'm only 30...

DAVE: I think there's a few bloody fuckin' lies going on around here.

NICK: lam.

DAVE: I'm the only one who actually owns up to—

NICK: Well, let's not go into your age. DAVE: It's a grotesque age. I'm so well preserved, you'll never believe it. I'm... [brief pause)... 37.

NICK: PFFFFFFLLLFLFLLFT!!!!

CREEM: Well actually, Dave, people have been known to say that you look the youngest in the band.

NICK: Actually, people have said that to me., as well, I must admit.

DAVE: All I can say is that when King Harold got killed by that arrow in 1066, I wasn't feeling very well.

[General laughter as more beer arrives. I tell the band I have a startling confession to make; 'Don't tell me,' says Nick—'you want to have a piss.' Sussed out, I volunteer to turn off my recorder while I'm gone. Edmunds: 'No. We'll just talk into it while you're gone. ''Lowe: 'In fact we'll talk about you while you're gone.' As I get up from the.table, Nick grabs4he machine, puts on a fake American accent and speaks into the microphone: 'THAT ASSHOLE'S GONE, MAN, WHAT A RELIEF!' He looks at the band conspiratorially while I watch; helpless. 'OH, THAT ASSHOLE!!'. Then he shuts the machine off 'til I return, and we start talking about Terry.)

NICK: The thing about Terry Williams is that he's the non-drummer's drummer. When drummers get. together, they're the most boring people on earth. It's like 'What kind of heads do you use, man,' right? I've seen drummers come up to Terry and say 'What kind've drums have you got?' and he'H say 'Silver ones.''Terry doesn't have a bee in his bonnet, he'll just do his drumming. But it one of us says 'Terry, don't put that bit there, put it here instead,' he'll just say 'OK, I'll have a go at it.' He hasn't got any kind of big deal, well-YOUcome-over-here-and-try-to-do-it attitude, and drummers are notorious for having chips on their shoulders. He is totally uninterested in playing /drums. (looks directly at Terry) Is that a fair statement? TERRY: (complete silence)

DAVE: And he's just been fired as well!!

(Still more beer is served, and the band mentions how much better they feel now, implying direct causality.)

CREEM: Do you think you could've made a better Rockpile album?

DAVE: Ido.

NICK: Well, I don't. )

TERRY: / do, too, though. It's up to you Billy...

DAVE: No—even it 'Teacher, Teacher' is a hit, I think it lacks integrity. I think it was the wrong avenue to take.

BILLY: (now sounding somewhat angry for real) What would you like to have as the single, then? -

DAVE: In a way, I'd rather have a flop. Like when Eric Clapton did 'I Shot The Sheriff'-

NICK: Bullshit!! Whaddya mean you'd rather have a flop? What a load of crap! DAVE: Well, if you'll let me continue in the lipe I'm pursuing...

NICK: I'll come in later on, then.

DAVE: Alright. Anywafy, in a way you can last longer on flops that have a bit of integrity.

NICK: You should know!!

DAVE: Like Ry Cooder's 'Little Sister,' or something like that. No one expects Eric Clapton to zoom up the charts, but if he lurks in the 5Q to the bottom 30 with an, 'I Shot The Sheriff, I think it's" a better long-term plan, to go with something you're really into. But when we finished all these solo albums and then all of the sudden had to come up with a Rockpile album—which we'd been threatening the world with for God knows how long—we didn't quite know what Rockpile was. Everybody had to find out, because we never tried before;in spite of our making the solo albums, it was still uncharted territory for us. Plus we had to make it quick, in three weeks, not counting weekends—so we just has to bite the bullet and go with what we had.

TERRY: (to Dave) You and me had a thing with 'Teacher, Teacher,' didn't we? We thought it didn't sound like Rockpile.

DAVE: Yeah. That song could be sung by a couple of 17-year old kids who'd just got together to make their first record.

CREEM: It's probably the best choice for a single for the States, though. But it does sound more like a Nick Lowe single than anything else.

DAVE: If that album, as it stands, was my solo album, I would have preferred to pick 'Knife And Fork'—which demonstrates what /would like Rockpile to be, though it's not the obvious hit. But I'd rather have a flop with that one than 'Teacher, Teacher.' It's too deliberate an attempt to get a hit. In terms of the interview, though, I'm probably talking way out of order...

(Apparently Dave's sentiments disturb Billy, who either disagrees with Edmunds or wishes he'd keep his mouth shut in front of the press. I volunteer to leave; Billy says there's no need. Nick, who's been in the bathroom while Edmunds made his last few comments, returns to find Dave and Billy glaring at each other. 'It's just an opinion, Billy,' says Edmunds. 'Just a bloody opinion.' Nick can't figure out what's happened: ''I'm intrigued, I'm intrigued! Whqt's all this?' No one tells him, and Billy leaves, apparently for the bathroom. He doesn't come back, though, and the "band keeps right on talking. The conversation continues to degenerate. Terry: 'The origipal reason I started playing the drums was for fun and to get fucked. ' Dave: 'But he had to fettle for the DRUMS!' and so on, Edmunds particularly having fun. 'Hey Nick, ' he says, 'Someone told me today you weren't fit to eat with the pigs, but I told 'im you were!!!' Nick, meanwhile is oblivious, raving about Billy's nine-year old: 'His little kid is a shit! Where is he, I wanna hit that child!' Billy's nowhere to be found; I spend time talking to Terry, our conversation puntuated by Edmunds' continual 'BUGGER OFF, TERRY!' chant at random intervals. Somehow, Jane/from CBS realizes the interview is, -for all practical purposes, over. The band staggers away from the table as Jane reels off upcoming interviews set up for them when they arrive in the States. When she's finished, Edmunds asks his most important question of all: 'Yeah, but can you get me on DINAH?!?' The rest of the band is not impressed.

☆ ☆ ☆

As the band makes plans for the night—it's still only seven in the evening—I walk up to Billy Bremner's son, wondering why Nick spoke so harshly of him. Drunk, of course, I put my fingers on his chest and say 'Hey, what's this?' He looks down, and my finger slaps him on the chin. Old joke. 'Hey,' he says, 'you got a 'ole under the right arm of your jacket!' My right hand feels for it.

'HA HA HA!' he shouts, pointing at me, 'You look like a monkeylF

I figure it's probably the company he keeps. Sol walkaway. ^