Graham Lambkin 1992
Graham Lambkin has long been one of the most enigmatic and individually creative players to come out of the UK underground, bridging original UK DIY styles with an interrogative approach to rock, sound art and language. Starting out as The Cat & Bells Club he formed The Shadow Ring with Darren Harris, whose unique vocal stylings and surreal lyrics birthed an atmosphere of suburban ennui that was the perfect complement to the music’s usurpation of classic prole/punk styles – detuned guitars played percussively, cheap keyboards prodded, nod-out rhythms beaten out on household furniture... the group played a key part in the creatively accelerated years of the 1990s underground alongside other players associated with the Siltbreeze label – Harry Pussy, Charalambides, The Dead C et al - but their own restlessly inventive drive soon took them somewhere else entirely, into a very lonely, dark and profoundly beautiful zone of deconstructed language and austere synth stylings across masterpiece albums like Lighthouse, Lindus and I’m Some Songs. Since then Lambkin has curated the Kye imprint where he has continued to join the dots between avant garde art praxis and hands-on DIY, releasing sides by everyone from Call Back The Giants (featuring his old bandmate Tim Goss) through to the contemporary composer Moniek Darge. In order to celebrate the releases of his new LP on Kye, Amateur Doubles, a beguilingly personal ‘soundtrack’ work, and to see the year off with a bang for VT readers, we are extremely proud to present a column where he sets out, for the first time in detail, the precise genesis of The Shadow Ring and the making of their classic first album, 1993’s City Lights.
AMATEUR DOUBLES
Twenty years in the game, and I still don't know the F chord. The last time I had a guitar in my hand was when I dropped mine into the dumpster behind our apartment building nine years ago. Now I'm not even interested. Much better to leave it to those who can genuinely make their strings sing. But of course I didn't always think this way. There was a time I owned three axes, and abused them several times a week, often in the company of my dear friend Darren Harris. These carefree, indulgent sessions, which spanned the years 1991-92, lead us to believe that we could/should form a band - trading initially as The Cat & Bells Club (or The C&B), then Footprint, and The Shadow Ring shortly thereafter.
In some regards this decision was inevitable. Music and records were always a big attraction. I can still recall my 10-year-old self, hunched over the hand-me-down mono cassette deck as it chewed its way through Hunky Dory, Lionheart, and whatever else I could liberate from my sister's bedroom. A few years down the road it was the John Peel show, Blast First, Record Collector magazine, indie fanzines, Audion, and then one day... Forced Exposure. However much I thought I knew about music before (underground or otherwise) suddenly blew out the window like the froth off a pint of bitter. Now, here truly was a brave new world, packed to the drawstrings with intrepid explorers, most of whom had somehow, circumnavigated all my musical expectations. Harsh 70's Reality; Explosion in a Shingle Factory; Lake; Iys; Spirit of Yma, all offered wildly original solutions to the problem of how to make music. This was a eureka! moment for me, and an excellent means to syphon off any disposable income at hand.
Aladdin's Cave
Our first baby steps came in the shape of three privately distributed, micro-edition cassettes: The Cat & Bells Club (yellow j-card), The Cat & Bells Blub (pink j-card), and Footprint. Fine of course, but not real records. Making that happen would take a far greater challenge to our commitment, involving the coughing up of some serious dough. We clubbed our resources together and took the plunge. It also seemed reasonable in light of this upgrade, to rechristen ourselves for the vinyl market. The answer was already there in one of our earlier tracks: Kent Custer, from the second C&B cassette. The songs deals with a fictitious pest who revels in the madness of an untidy kitchen: 'Firstly, the shadow ring's flag the way.' The shadow rings in question being the hard to remove scum lines found around the inner rim of any well used coffee/tea cup. Perfect for us and our grimy little operation. We even had a sleeve design all ready and waiting. All we needed now were the songs, and a label to release them through.
The name Dry Leaf Discs came to us by chance. On the day we were discussing label name ideas, I received an anonymous package in the mail, stuffed with dried oak leaves. It was strange and seemed fated, so we went with that. Our grand debut on wax, the Don't Open The Window b/w The Heavy Foot Of The Lark 7" (DF001) was a crude affair, even for us. Two rag-bag instrumental knockabouts for charity shop guitar (replete with hand scratched Led Zeppelin IV symbols) tea cup, tray, spoon and Casio, all captured on TDK C-90's by the faithful Vestax MR300 4-trk, a.k.a. S.H.P Studios (St Hilda Portable). It didn't really matter to us if it sounded like crap - that wasn't the point. It was our creation, our own version of music, and it was a thrill to make. So, on with the show.
The next logical step was to record an album. In an effort to advance our sound we brought a used floor tom, a second (electric) guitar, and a xylophone. We also decided it would be wise to recruit an extra pair of hands. Only two people ever came for an audition - one, a 16 year-old blues fanatic (whose name escapes me), and the other, our old school friend Tim Goss. The blues fellow arrived and played a few licks, but quickly became confused and angry as we fell in behind him, probably believing himself to be the victim of a cruel prank. Tim came with less to offer, but despite showing some early promise, didn't quite gel. Tim of course returned to our story a few years later, but back in 1993 we were still at square one. So in light of these disappointments it was decided that we would just invent a band member. Someone malleable and compliant with our needs. Someone who wouldn't stick his oar in, or rock the boat. Someone like... Klaus Canterbury. Pathetic of course, but we didn't care. Now we had our very own R. Totale, and we were ready to record.
7st Hilda Road
Sessions were always very cordial. We'd warm up with a few Holsten Pils, whatever else was going around, and on the weekends Lambs Navy Rum. We'd briefly go over what the track should sound like, how many of the four channels to use, maybe a few lyrics, some mic placement, and then away we'd go. Everything was always first take with no rehearsals. Done. Next. The more we played the more we became conscious of what we had, and what we lacked. Influences were often easy to spot - Recent discoveries such as The Godz weighed heavily, as did pretensions towards The Fall, Tyrannosaurus Rex and Deram-era Bowie. But some were less obvious. Darren and I were infatuated with Joe McPhee & John Snyder's Pieces of Light LP (brought blind for £3 off Stefan Jaworzyn's legendary Scumlist) and tried very hard to copy some of Snyder's moves. Another obscure one was a private press folk/cabaret LP by The Joanne Duo called Together, brought in a moment of boredom from The Spastics Society. This was a fascinating record; poorly recorded, poorly performed, and with those terrible home-photo snaps on the back, and that amateur layout. We couldn't get that thing off the turntable. The sleeve notes to City Lights loosely paraphrased those of Together: 'This is the first album by The Joanne Duo and it follows close on the heels of an E.P which proved very popular with audiences in Britain and all over the Continent of Europe'. vs. 'Stand up and count them were words of mine when D.L.D. first unveiled plans for this, the debut LP - it follows several months after their single 'Don't Open The Window." et al.*
Masters
After a month or so of regular get-togethers, we found we'd amassed more than enough material to fill an LP, and so set about selecting tracks from various sessions, and running them into sequence. We ended up with what we thought was a good balance between instrumentals, songs and abstract stuff. I can't remember which plant we used to manufacture the LP. The previous 7" had been done at Porkys, but the run-out groove on the LP doesn't have 'another porky prime cut', etched into it, so I don't know... What I do remember is that we were invited to watch the record being mastered. This was performed by veteran engineer Brian East at his home-cum-studio on the coast of Sandgate nr Folkestone. Darren and I were received on the appointed day and given a tour of the workshop. Brian then did his bit whilst his charming and lovely wife ferried in a stream of McVities digestives and hot tea. Brian was awesome - patient and funny, and not at all thrown when our racket kicked-in over his colossal sound system. He regaled us with tales of his time working for RCA in the 70's, and some of the big sellers he'd had his hand in. The Shadow Ring were just one more feather in his cap.
Whilst we waited for our record to come back we worked on the cover art. A wrap-around paste-on was cheap, easy and it looked cool. The drawing on the front was based on the interior of The Leas Club - a popular drinking hole at the time. It was a great place to get anything you wanted, and they had a well appointed bar. They also had snooker and pool upstairs, darts, and a main stage for bands. Darren wrote out the liner notes, we had the thing printed, and we were good to go. About a month later we were sitting around watching the then brand new morning quiz show, Supermarket Sweep, when the phone rang. It was the pressing plant informing us the vinyl was ready for pick-up. I had my friend Simon Jefferies drive us up in his van, and we sped back to the coast, proud owners of DF002. To 'promote' the release of the LP, we ran off 50 color xerox posters, each a grotesque collage of mugshots, back gardens, old christmas cards, high spirits and low ethics. We didn't really know what to do with them, so they ended up just being folded and randomly inserted into some of the sleeves. But that was the extent of it. There were no live shows (and where would we have played?) no radio airplay, scant press. Most of the copies seeped overseas, and were distributed in the US via the good graces of Jimmy Johnson, although Fisheye and Grim Humour/Fourth Dimension did handle some minor distribution on the homeland.
The Leas Club
So what have we got then?
Double Standard
Easing gently in with this 4 X guitar instrumental. Two channels of electric, and two channels of acoustic (one steel string, one cat gut). Although Darren and I were both excused from traditional concepts of skill and technique in our playing, I do still like our guitar sound on this - simplistic and subdued, with just the right amount of nuance. Jeff Beck shudders and puts on his sweater.
City Lights
This was one of the earliest tracks recorded for the LP. A hangover from the Cat & Bells Club sessions, this was Kent Custer tarted up with a fresh lyric and a cleaner, calmer sound. For whatever reason this seems more at peace with itself than some of the other tracks from the era, almost optimistic. No one's left the confines of the bedroom, but at least someone's noticed a window. The title was pinched from Lou Reed's sentimental homage to Charlie Chaplin. Darren and I were both huge fans of Lou, in particular The Bells, and this track seemed to sit like an island of calm in the otherwise tumultuous seas of its parent LP. The drum sound here was modeled on Tyrannosaurus Rex's Chariots of Silk - one floor tom pounded monotonously in an effort to win Phil Spector's ear. City Lights turned out to be our best-loved song, earning two cover versions (Rautavaara, 1995, Blessure Grave, 2009) and a Vietnamese fan-made promo video, viewable on YouTube.
Ohh Ahh
Of all the Godz's knock-off's on City Lights Ohh Ahh is perhaps the most unwelcome. An uninspired pillage through the Contact High songbook, hung on the nose of Pow R. Toc H. This hasn't aged well, and was possibly not in the best of health to begin with. The only redeeming feature is the punched-in electric guitar noise mid-way through that I still think sounds kinda cool.
Cape Of Seaweed
Mankind's destruction of life on land, and its inevitable retreat back to the depths of the sea. Less ecological admonition, more acid flash on the beach. Some typewriter clatter and a little bit of staged chat just about hold things together
Lyin Eyes
Darren Harris re-imagined as carefree folk troubadour. No idea why this mercifully-brief throwaway was given the (permanent) green light.
Cold Coffee
Double Standard's darker sibling. The same multi-tracked guitar set-up as before, but this one came out with a great deal more menace. Brooding and restless, this draws Side A to a close under its canopy of gloom. What a downer. Cold Coffee was also the name given to a testing home cocktail at the time: equal parts gin, Jamaican spicy rum, Smirnoff Blue Label vodka, and a splash of pine household disinfectant. You can see a shot of our 'bar' on the bottom of the promo poster.
Here Come The Candles
The title of this one was lifted from the Mandy Morton & Spriguns track According to Matthew. Darren and I were both great admirers of Spriguns (of Tolgus) - Jack with a Feather being another boombox perennial at the time, but you can find According to Matthew on Magic Lady. Our Here Come The Candles is a guarded, emotionally confused preamble through the unimagined hells of marriage>divorce. Hard to understand why we felt compelled to comment on such alien terrain; our own 'little black books' being conspicuously bereft of data.
Faithful Calls
A biscuit tin drum roll heralds the arrival of the longest track on City Lights. Something of a Frankenstein's monster, Faithful Calls welds some seriously purple, sub-Bolan-esque prose against a bed of aimless acoustic clatter, broken up by the intrusive arrival of Darren's wild and woolly sausage-fingered Casio solo (which we liked as it reminded us of a rough 'n' ready sea shanty), and a long free blast of baby listener intercom feedback. These handy devices were rescued from the skip behind the local Do It All, and they proved to be loyal and effective aids when we needed to add a bit of grit to our soup. The 'poetry bit' makes a brief return before the din subsides, and we all catch our breath.
White Eyes
This supremely moronic track is considered by its author to be one of the better things on the side. The mumbling vocal never actually verbalizes either word in the title, but when played back it sounded something like "white arm and white eyes", or "why are you white eyes?"... There's also what appears to be a whispering voice, which comes in around the 55 second mark. We were never able to trace its provenance. This track would've made a great 45. (There's still time Graham, there's still time)
The Visitor
Opening with a confirmation by the fake Spaniard, S.Fritz, The Visitor is the closest we sailed into matters of the cloth. Religious iconography would occasionally crop up in lyrics around this time, and here, a long overdue Christ returns to Earth, only to be met with blanket apathy. This infuriates him, and sends him scampering back to the spiritual safehouse from whence he came. Things get a bit silly in the middle section, with the frantic pounding and whooping (I would never again allow myself to become so excited on record) but for the most part this is a harmless period piece. Tom Lax always insists this was the track that sold the Shadow Ring to him. Tom, you've got mail.
Snowbirds Of Alkatraz^
The LP closes with another nod to the Joanne Duo, taking their reading of Snowbird (the Gene Maclellan classic) and running it through the Shadow Ring mincer. It seemed apropos to send this paradigm of freedom flying back to the isolated confines of The Rock. Unseen and unappreciated. That's life.
Graham Lambkin today -happy, healthy, relaxed
* - For the full transcription of Ron Milner's Together sleeve notes visit: http://eronrecords.co.uk/page14.htm
^ - I know, I know....