Page One - Late Eighties - Collision, Acid House, Spike Island

In 1988 Controlled Weirdness then known as DJ Jux opened a night at Zanadus in Upper Street, Islington playing an eclectic mix of Funk, Hip Hop, Electro, Acid House and even some African beats.
The varied selection refelected the Balearic spirit of the times. The night was run in the conjuction with the Anti Apartheid movement at a time when Nelson Mandela was still considered a terrorist by the UK government. At one of these nights the band Ruff, Ruff + Ready were invited to play. This South London band had 2 rappers as front men mixing guitar based funk, punk and ska with hip hop style and attitude. Liking the DJ sounds they heard that night they invited Neil to play with them at their gigs and over the next few years he toured and played with them at many nights round the country and abroad. They were signed by Island records for a while and hyped up as the new thing but as record companies are wont to do they lost interest and the band dissolved.They had recorded an album in Island studios with some DJ, sample touches on from Neil that was pressed in limited quantities but this was never released fully.
There was one mad gig before they split where they were first on the bill at Spike Island, the legendary Stone Roses event where 25000 scousers and scallies turned out to celebrate the emerging Madchester scene. Neil was one of the dancers on stage as the crowd hurled abuse, batteries and coins. Gary Clail went on afterwards and recieved the same treatment. It was a horrible event and The Stone Roses finished it off with an awful set echoing into the night over a sea of flared trousers.

 


February 1988, Collision Poster, London
March 17th 1988, Ruff, Ruff and Ready gig at Collision
Halloween 1988 Acid House party in Brixton with Ruff, Ruff + Ready and DJ Jux
Original Spike Island Artist pass 1990 - see review below

Record Mirror Live Review of Spike Island, 9 th June 1990

“It's not exactly Woodstock, is it,” muses a young reveller as he makes his way from the parking area (bulging with hundreds of buses from all over the country), past the car wreckers and onwards in the general direction of the petro-chemical works. Somewhere in-between is Spike Island, not quite the romantic vision of King Arthur's Avalon that you'd expect – more of a field surrounded by a moat. However, despite its less than picturesque setting, the atmosphere is one of barely concealed excitement. Nippers dressed proudly in flares and Joe Bloggs gear buy Spike Island T-shirts in their thousands, spending their hard earned cash on immortalising the day in cotton and polyester.

The gates open at 2.00 in the afternoon, but The Stone Roses don't show their faces until dusk draws in at 9.30. This doesn't seem to trouble the growing ranks at the foot of the stage, busily throwing themselves about to a selection of rave anthems and crossover favourites spun by a collection of DJs including Dave Haslam, Paul Oakenfold and Frankie Bones. The majority decide to forsake any serious wiggling activity in favour of spending their time in a more constructive manner. After all, there's no better way of killing time than queuing for hours at the baked potato stand, the ice cream van, the beer tent…

The appearance of South London's Ruff, Ruff And Ready is a welcome break from the chap who spent the best part of an hour at the microphone shouting “Manchester vibes in the area!” to a puzzled throng. Their heavy-handed hybrid of rocksteady rhythms and abrasive guitar melodies is energetically performed, but received with complete indifference by the audience. The singer tactlessly confronts the static bodies below him: “What's the matter? Don't we purse our lips enough for you?” he says challengingly. The response is a shower of coins, plastic bottles and articles of clothing aimed in his general direction. Touche.

Thomas Mapfumo fares a little better, as by this time the audience has spent much of its initial energy pouring scorn on our eloquent friends from Peckham. His languid, heavily percussive African melodies suit the calmer atmosphere and with subtle bursts of brass and some wailing female vocals he prompts a genuinely appreciative reception. As for Gary Clail, he delivers his idiosyncratic set of heavy dub beats in typically ponderous fashion, leading the way for a lengthy bout of disc spinning before the real action starts.

The Stone Roses take the stage to massive cheers and within seconds there is a huge surge towards the stage as the gathering thousands try to catch a better sight of Ian Brown and his cohorts in full swing. Launching into ‘ I Wanna Be Adored ', Brown's vocals (reputedly triple tracked to enhance their strength) sound confident, while Squire's guitar roars along with considerable gusto. ‘ Elephant Stone ' is stridently melodic, matching the album tracks which dominate proceedings, but sadly, from this peak of emotion, they lose their way somewhat. Bedeviled by a sound system which fails miserably to deliver the goods, Squire's guitar playing sparkles more intermittently and Brown's voice begins to show characteristic signs of weakness. Even standing in the middle of the audience, the volume is low and the quality poor. People murmur disgruntledly to each other as ‘ One Love ' (the next single) fails to raise the pulse and wince at the tunelessness of ‘ Sugar Spun Sister ', only coming to life when darkness falls and the stage lights come to prominence. This is the moment when the evening sparkles temporarily – ‘ Waterfall ', in its full length splendour, is magnificent. Squire, Manny on bass and Reni on drums weave a symphony of intricate melodies and powerful rhythms within a 10 minute framework. ‘ Made Of Stone ' and ‘ Elizabeth My Dear ' pass by before a woeful rendition of ‘ I Am The Resurrection ' ends the evening's live entertainment. As the band amble offstage, waving triumphantly to the audience, fireworks light up the sky. “This is better than the band,” comments one wag as we all stare upwards.

It was a memorable, if ultimately disappointing day, for The Stone Roses. Not only should the gig's organisers have bolstered the bill with the likes of James, Inspiral Carpets and Northside, the band themselves also face a tricky dilemma. Do they revert to playing theatres and stadia, where the sound quality is easier to monitor, or stick to their highly individual principles and risk more duff performances like this?

Iestyn George