My time in the Steel City - a youthful 1980 sojourn in Sheffield

May 1980: somewhere in Sheffield. "It's Fry, like my name", said Martin, pointing to an old tin sign propped up against the wall of his bedsit, advertising Fry's Chocolates; he was inviting me to see the inherent humour, which I did, but probably not as enthusiastically as he would have liked. The 'Martin' in question is Martin Fry; the same Martin Fry that two years later would be catapulted to stardom as the lead singer of ABC, a million miles away from the confines of this tiny south Yorkshire room. But why was I here? Under false pretenses, basically. Correction: I was there for the right reasons, but I wasn't holding out much hope that what I thought I was there for would come to pass.

Let's backtrack a bit. As a massive fan of independent music in the late 1970s, the more difficult the better, a chance purchase of the first Cabaret Voltaire EP in 1978 opened up new aural doors for me. Difficult, alien DIY machine music, never far from a tune but awkward as hell; a sort of grungier version of The Human League's more polished electronic sound (a group who also released their first single the same year). Both bands lived and worked in Sheffield, a fact I filed away for later use. 

Over the next year I started to read articles about and hear other bands based in that city: Clock DVA; I'm So Hollow; and Vice Versa, the latter whose first EP, 'Music 4', had emerged in 1979. More synths, more strangely catchy tunes, more strident male vocals. I had just published the first edition of my own short lived fanzine, 'DoA', and a friend encouraged me to channel my nascent journalistic enthusiasms further. 

So I wrote to Zigzag, the London based independent music magazine who regularly accepted - and printed - submissions from unknown correspondents, and told them that I was planning on writing a piece covering 'the Sheffield scene'. In early 1980 I then wrote to Vice Versa and Clock DVA and told them I was writing a piece on 'the Sheffield scene' for Zigzag magazine and that I'd like to come up and interview them.

Except Zigzag magazine didn't actually reply to confirm that the piece was a goer.

Fast forward to the spring of that year. A member of Vice Versa, a guy called Stephen Singleton, wrote back confirming that they would love to host me for a week, show me around the sights of Sheffield and introduce me to the other bands there. With his letter he included a cassette of eight songs by his group named, rather appropriately, '8 Aspects'. A date was arranged for the trip; Friday 2nd of May. 

Every morning I awaited the post; nothing from Zigzag. Singleton was the co-creator of Neutron Records, who had not only released 'Music 4' but also, in early 1980, a double ep called '1980:The First Fifteen Minutes' featuring tracks from DVA, I'm So Hollow, local punk legends The Stunt Kites and, of course, VV. It certainly sounded like things were happening in the 'Steel City'.

44 Bowood Road, Sheffield, the address given on the back of the cassette and the first stop on my trip, was Neutron Records HQ. Any ideas I held that Neutron would be a suite of modern offices, staffed by entrepreneurial execs all looking to sign the next big act, were swiftly dashed; it was Stephen's parents' house and I'd been invited for tea. The Singletons, and in fact everyone I met that week, were nothing short of lovely; including Martin Fry, in whose flat it was arranged I would be staying for the duration of the visit. 

I can't remember Martin's address but, like a lot of Sheffield at the time, the rather grotty multiple occupation house in which he lived is likely no more; probably the whole street has been demolished. Martin had a biggish room on the top floor; everyone shared a ground floor bathroom. It wasn't long before I discovered Martin's neighbour on the first floor, an enigmatic chap by the name of Stephen James Turner, known to everybody as 'Judd'. He was a bass player in a band.

And the name of that band was Clock DVA.

Coming from the affluent south, the first thing I noticed was that very few people seemed to have jobs. Various band members mentioned casual employment in local factories or food processing facilities, but those occupations seemed vague and spoken about in the past tense. Subsistence mainly came from the Unemployment Exchange, fueling the real work; the music. That and hanging out together in pubs, establishing the social glue (and occasional rivalry) of diverse bands operating in the same location.

Vice Versa had no planned gigs scheduled the week I was in the city. They looked on themselves as 'attaché case futurists', able to turn up at a moment's notice when a promoter required a low maintenance, no fuss fill in group. I would later witness this happening.

Clock DVA

Clock DVA on the other hand were a 'proper' band, who regularly got together in one of Sheffield's numerous ex industrial units. Their space was on West Street, premises once used by master craftsmen in the cutlery industry; I'd been invited to see them rehearse. Standing at the appointed hour outside a building that looked in serious danger of collapsing, I met the first band member, drummer Roger Quail, who seemed refreshingly 'normal' (whatever that means. Quail, a chap seemingly blessed with an eidetic memory and/or a collection of diaries - which helped a little with the writing of this piece - now maintains an excellent blog/podcast My Life in the Mosh of Ghosts which is well worth checking out). At the time of meeting I wasn't really aware quite how extreme the band's history was (later I read stories of violent confrontations between group and audiences, and one anecdote told of a previous band member taking a machete to gigs to deal with any overly physical reactions to their live set, a not uncommon problem): perhaps it was just as well.

Looking back now, I couldn't have realised at the time how important this moment was for me. There I was, 200 miles from home, a naive kid from comfortable suburban surroundings, sitting on the floor of an old, disused building that, miraculously, had a power supply, watching Clock DVA set up and run through their set, complete with strobe light show. I had previously been given a band tape, 'Group Fragments', which included a (gulp, catchy) song called 'Your (sic) Without Sound'; this 1979 artefact, recorded at Cabaret Voltaire's Western Works studio, represented the last recordings of a group in transition. 'Group Fragments' was all electronics, treated tape and muttered vocals. In the period since its release DVA were in the process of discarding a guitarist, David Hammond, and picking up another, Paul Widger, although he wouldn't start playing with them until later the following month; they'd also acquired a new drummer (Quail) in June the previous year and a sax and woodwind player, Charlie Collins, transforming the sound into something...funkier. Their set was blistering and 'live ready', which was handy as they were due to play in London on the following Friday, supporting Cabaret Voltaire.

To get some idea of what this sounded like, listen to DVA's recordings for Throbbing Gristle's Industrial Records label, 'White Souls in Dark Suits' (which were being finalised for release at the time of my visit; you can hear them here): shut your eyes and listen to the first track, 'Consent'. That was pretty much what I heard that afternoon and reader, it blew my mind. While there was a continuity of sound from the first DVA iteration, in many ways it couldn't have been a more different group. This was almost certainly down to the the (relatively) new additions, particularly multi instrumentalist Collins who had joined late the previous year, a mercurial fellow steeped in difficult jazz, both slightly wild and taciturn, inscrutable behind his bushy beard.

Quail seemed young, a gifted drummer perhaps slightly in awe of his fellow band members. The remaining two chaps were the aforementioned Stephen 'Judd' Turner and the equally enigmatic singer Adi Newton, the centre of the band from its 1977 formation onwards; I was to become well acquainted with most of these people in the days to come.

Vice Versa

Vice Versa were three young men, Stephen Singleton, Martin Fry and singer Mark White, two of whom remained pretty serious throughout the week; Singleton was more excitable and ready to laugh. White was a couple of years younger than the band's stated '21 age bracket', reserved and somewhat of an enigma throughout my stay. Fry was avuncular, accommodating and curious; his bedsit was scrupulously tidy with a collection of the sort of books that you would expect to find in a young English Literature graduate's room, and a row of cassettes that included some rare DVA recordings (these would much later be released on the excellent first volume of the band's archival 'Horology' series). What I didn't realise at the time was that VV had also been through some lineup changes, and Fry was a relative newcomer to the band.

VV interviews all took place in Bowood Road mainly because, like a lot of houses in Sheffield, it had a basement which the band used for rehearsals, a tiny space but, because there were only three of them, adequate for their needs. By this point the band had been functioning in various incarnations since 1977 around the White/Singleton nucleus. Several months after my first visit VV would begin their transformation into ABC after discovering Fry's sonorous tonsils; it may be hindsight but I thought I detected a slight weariness among the band members, but as I hadn't seen them play live, my reference points were the recorded output and our own conversations. It was also 45 years ago, and I must be careful not to create memories. 

VV were, I recall, uneasy interviewees (although to be fair I've never been a great interviewer); they were the first to voice a common concern among some of the (smaller) Sheffield outfits, namely the need to remain separate from and more than slightly mistrustful of that London, although both they and DVA had played there. This clarion call of northern independence was underlined by the 1980 release of two compilation albums, 'Bouquet of Steel', comprising 15 tracks from unsigned Sheffield artists which celebrated the diversity of the local music scene, and 'Hicks from the Sticks', with a wider regional remit and which included three Sheffield bands.

At some point during the week Singleton and White played me some rather formless instrumental recordings which were very different to what I'd heard to date; I can't be sure but I think that these tracks surfaced much later  - with titles - on the also excellent Singleton and White curated 'Electrogenesis 1978 - 1980' VV box set. Later I found out that these recordings were made by the pair before the arrival of Fry; they asked me what I thought of them. I think I was quite diplomatic but I also recall this may have been the first time that the ABC side project was mentioned. Of which more later.

It's at this point that I should mention the spectre of two groups which were active, not only in Sheffield but nationally, while these interviews took place; one, Cabaret Voltaire, have already been referenced, a successful outfit in themselves but also a benevolent force in encouraging new musical projects across the city. The other was The Human League, still with their original lineup. I use the word 'spectre' because both groups weren't really mentioned during the week (despite being well known by the majority of my interviewees), except by a couple of people I met who thought that, because I was 'up from London', I would of course be pointing my microphone in their faces. 

I actually had no intention of talking to either the Cabs or the League, even if they had given me tape time; I was far more interested in the smaller, more independent outfits. But the musical and thematic comparisons between Vice Versa and early Human League were apparent, and the historic interconnection between band members of CV, DVA and The Human League could not be ignored (also, the Cabs were responsible for producing demos for most of the outfits I met during the week). Other contemporaneous interviews with band members have shown nothing but support and admiration for both groups so it's strange that they didn't crop up more in our conversations. Maybe it was because both bands had been happy to connect with (or 'sell out' to) London; as mentioned, a thorny subject.

I'm So Hollow

One band who appeared on both '1980: The First Fifteen Minutes' and 'Bouquet of Steel' were I'm So Hollow, a group who borrowed liberally from the Roxy Music songbook and adopted various post punk stylings but managed to create a sound uniquely their own. Band members were Jane Wilson - vocals and keyboards, Rod Leigh - guitar, vocals, Gary Marsden - bass and Yosef "Joe" Sawicki - drums. I was fortunate to witness the band rehearse in another, this time much bigger basement of the house owned by one of the band's parents, at an address in one of the city's leafier suburbs. As I recall they didn't have a lot to say in interview, letting the music speak for itself, and were a good example of a band doing it only for as long as they wanted to.

So my week wore on; interviews, pubs, more interviews (sometimes comprising a seemingly endless list of cultural reference points), cups of tea in people's houses; more walking. After a few days life seemed to centre around Martin's flat and trips out with Judd, who emerged as quite the character, reckless, funny, fidgety and always armed with a smoke, cheaper than alcohol and as readily available. On one occasion he espied, from the top of a bus on which we were travelling, a skinhead, on foot, wearing flared trousers. Judd goaded him through the open window 'just to see what would happen'. I very much hoped that what would happen was that the skinhead and Judd would not get to meet face to face; my bus companion very much looked like he could handle himself in these situations, but I definitely didn't. In fact it was hard to reconcile 'jack-the-lad' Judd with the rather more sensitive bass playing member of DVA. On a trip to Judd's mum's house she turned out to be an equally warm and funny person who doted on her son (although she and Judd looked about the same age, which was a little confusing).

Prior to Intercourse

The history of the Sheffield post punk scene is inexorably linked with the city's academic establishments, such as the now legendary Now Society ('Nowsoc') gigs at the University, or events put on at Psalter Lane Arts College. I'm taken to one of these places, ostensibly to interview DVA, and where there's a distinct end of term feel; packets of white powder are being freely traded over refectory tables, while in the background I witness students throwing up extensively during a yard of ale competition. I'm also there to meet a chap, who may be a student, called Robert Baker, founder of a dance/happening collective named Prior to Intercourse - or PTI to you - who had links with the 'Clocks' (as nobody referred to them). Baker's dressed in black, pale with a bowl haircut; imagine a slightly more trendy Gareth Keenan from the BBC comedy The Office. He tells me, in a matter of fact way, some of the things he gets up in his spare time which I'm pretty sure are illegal in this country, and certainly unlikely to be found within any University syllabus.

Anyway, there's news! The Fatales, the band scheduled to play at the regular Blitz Club night, held at the legendary George IV pub on Infirmary Road, have pulled out (another account reckoned that the no shows were Dutch band Minny Pops). And the 'attaché case futurists' aka Vice Versa are about to step in. VV had played there just a few days earlier; this and their unpublicised appearance may have explained the sparse audience, but it's my chance to see the chaps in action. They're clearly a tight unit; synths get hammered, the tape machine whirrs and Mark White is a watchable front person. At times the three almost achieve syncopation in their dance moves, but mostly it's just lively twitching, a far cry from the cool allure of the League, even if they both sing about discos and mad scientists. All very exciting.

As my week comes to an end, there's a problem; as mentioned, DVA are playing in London on the Friday, the day I leave Sheffield; I'm also planning to be at the gig. Vice Versa want to go but their Friday night accommodation plans have fallen through and they can't afford hotels. An approach is made to me; could they stay at my place? So let's clarify things here; I'm 18, and it's my parents' house. To complicate things further, my father was recovering from an episode of poor mental health and had just retired, so it was a big - and very cheeky - ask of the folks for the chaps to bed down at our home in west London. But agree they did. 

Now here's the other thing; VV had arranged to travel down separately on the Thursday evening, meaning that I'd be alone in Martin's bedsit overnight; Martin really had no idea if I was legit or not, and I recall that there was a lot of rumination before he gave in and left the keys to his flat with me. Of course I was to be trusted; nothing wilder than a few cans of Skol, a visit to the local chippie and an episode of The Outer Limits on TV occurred. It was only later that I found out from the man himself that Judd and a visiting friend (remember he was in the next room) were planning to play surprise visit and, in his words, 'mess me up a bit', but decided against it and went down the pub instead. Praise the Lord for the gift of common sense!

After arriving back in west London and checking - in vain - for that Zigzag letter, I later met up with Vice Versa at the University of London, and finally got a chance to see Clock DVA in full gig mode, just days after watching them rehearse. And reader, I fell hard. The five piece were nothing short of electrifying. Newton, a not particularly tall chap, towered on stage in floor length cassock and vertical, Henry-Spencer-from-Eraserhead hair. Many of the songs played during the set would find their way into recorded form, not as expected on the wildly improvised 'White Souls in Black Suits' album, released later that year on Industrial Records, but on 'Thirst', the band's second classic album, recorded later in 1980 and released by Fetish Records in January of 1981.

Clock DVA at ULU 9/5/80

I didn't see much of VV during the evening, although I do recall Fry being distinctly and rather vocally non plussed with Cabaret Voltaire, the headliners, for reasons lost in time (a couple of years later I recall hearing some of that same disappointment when Fry laid into the new Donna Summer album in a cassette album review slot for SFX's 'The Talking Magazine' - he was passionate about music and didn't hide his feelings). A note about the sleeping arrangements at my parents' place, which may hint at future dynamics; Stephen and Mark slept on the living room floor; Martin took one of the spare bedrooms. I'll leave that one with you. Oh and in terms of what happened to the band next, my dad, despite being opposed to the idea of putting up a bunch of strangers, would dine out on the story for years that his overnight lodgers were to be better known as ABC.

So it was mid May; I was back in London, employed by day at the local Council and spending evenings after work gradually pulling the cassette interviews into some kind of order on the office typewriter, for an extended article which nobody had asked for. And as I worked, the piece morphed from a survey of the Sheffield scene to an article on Clock DVA alone; forgive me, but they just seemed more interesting. Was this a disservice to the other bands who gave me their time (and flat space)? Yes, but I didn't make anybody any promises; well that's how I justified things. Plus I was 18; just a kid really.

So with the article finished and sent to Zigzag (and a couple of music papers - I hadn't heard about exclusivity, obviously, and for some reason hadn't thought to self publish in my own very short lived 'zine) and with the prospect of pissing off a number of musicians if it ever went to print, what do you think I did next? I arranged to go back to Sheffield. I had the DVA bug bad.

Clock DVA and Vice Versa were playing a 'historic' homecoming gig on 25 June the same year, the venue being Sheffield City Hall. I asked, once again, if I could stay at Martin's. I don't recall how long I stayed for, but I was still in London on my birthday (22 June) as I went to the ICA to see Clock DVA and was back on the 27th to see them in London at the long gone Clarendon Hotel in Hammersmith (where they were supported by VV). 

On arrival in Sheffield, my reception from Vice Versa was rather chilly; word was out that I was only there to see Clock DVA, and it was clear I wasn't welcome. This visit is a bit more blurry in the memory banks. I do recall the 25 June gig mainly because of the audience, full of Sheffield A listers like the Cabs, and also Mark White ripping up his regulation overcoat onstage during the VV set as if to make a 'that was then but this is now' statement.

My other memory from that brief trip is lacking in context but did actually happen; Fry - who let's not forget was still a backing singer in VV - standing in front of a mirror, singing into something (please memory let it be a hairbrush), being the star of his own show. It was a private moment, witnessed only be me and his girlfriend at the time; but in hindsight an important one.

And that was it! I came home, tail slightly between my legs, with no sign of a published article and a pissed off band, who'd extended nothing but kindness to me. 

The Detonators, 1980 (your author seated centre)

But a seed had been sown. I went out and purchased a Korg MS-10 synthesizer, started recording songs at home on a reel to reel bought at a local junk shop, and set about finding my own band, in the shape of The Detonators, an existing group from Hounslow who'd recently parted company with their keyboard player. A couple more personnel changes later and, in December 1980, we played our first proper gig at the iconic London Filmmaker's Co-op, then headed off on a brief career playing the smaller clubs of west and south west London. Oh yeah and we used two strobes for lighting; can't think where I got that idea?

But that's enough about my musical endeavours; let's do a bit of 'what happened next'. In August 1980 Vice Versa went to play a gig in Holland, and recorded a single while there. During the recording sessions, a swap round of musical duties disclosed that Fry was indeed a singer to equal or even exceed Mark White, with arguably better stage presence; the story is that White immediately quit his role as front person and passed the mic (no longer a hairbrush) to Martin. The remaining handful of gigs played as Vice Versa - and not witnessed by me -  saw Fry front and centre, with White now the backing singer.

The rest is (sort of) history; and it rather depends on who's telling the story. At its simplest, Fry, White and Singleton wound up Vice Versa, formed the concept ABC and took a step back to learn their craft and listen to a lot of disco records. The first recorded fruits of this reshaping came in October 1981, with the release of the single 'Tears Are Not Enough', written and performed, as the label states 'by ABC', which is perhaps not entirely the case. In terms of band members, the cover features Fry alone, standing on a staircase, wearing charity shop clothes and looking every bit like an indie lad from Sheffield who'd got da funk. For this release, produced by the late Steve Brown (of 'She Sells Sanctuary' and many others fame) the trio are augmented by bassist Mark Lickley and drummer David Robinson, the former also playing on the band's 1982 debut album 'Lexicon of Love'. There's also clearly a number of session musicians on horns and lead guitars, the assumption being that White played the choppy rhythm guitar that underpins the song. Although Singleton is credited as sax player, his total contribution to the single seems to be a couple of honks a few minutes in. Without Fry's fabulous vocals, let's be honest, the single sounds like generic, rather pedestrian wine bar funk and is, in my opinion, the weakest song on their first album 'Lexicon on Love', despite it being souped up by Anne Dudley for the LP; unpopular opinion, maybe, but I think you'll find I'm right.

ABC - Mark 1

While there's no denying the excellence of 'Lexicon of Love' it's worth pausing to consider that the album was released in June 1982, just two years after I'd seen them in action as Vice Versa. Call me cynical, but aside from Fry's voice and White's recently learned rhythm guitar (and maybe some keyboards) it was hard to believe that the three chaps had created this pop classic; most of the music on the album seems to be performed by session musicians; in particular Singleton's contribution seems to be minimal. I also have a suspicion that at least some of the songwriting (not the lyrics, they are classic Fry) can be attributed to producer Trevor Horn. The album credit, again 'written and performed by ABC', strains credulity even further.

In interview Horn seems to back this up, concluding in a rather codified way that White was “a wonderful guitar player who also wrote music and worked out most of the arrangements on the album”, but that Singleton, showed “a deep understanding of the context of the music on the album, and played very sparingly”. Martin Fry has since gone on record with his version of the story; that it was his arrival which triggered the dissolving of VV and the creation of his ABC baby. In another interview Mark White stated that "Martin did NOT come along and change everything as I think he would be the first to say, it was a process of metamorphosis already in progression." 

We'll never know. But what is known is that Singleton didn't last past the second album, 'Beauty Stab'. Some years later a VH1 TV special, attempting to reunite ABC for a one off event, includes an interview with Stephen citing big egos as the reason that he left the group; in the same programme Fry suggests, slightly cagily, that Singleton was "ousted" (the only members that turn up for the eventual reunion are Fry and drummer David Sydenham; Singleton agreed in principle but then failed to show at the appointed hour). My own take is that Stephen was wasn't a great musician (check out any 'live' footage of ABC online, not that there is much, and Singleton often appears onstage with a sax draped round his neck, more as decoration than an instrument). However, I suspect that as co-creator of Neutron Records along with Mark White (who were the ABC rights holding company at this point), he was bought out, probably for a large amount of money. Mark White would also leave ABC some years later in 1991, and is now a fully qualified Reiki healing master with a practice in north London. From 1991 onwards, ABC has been Fry's business.

Adi Newton, Clock DVA, Berlin, 2014

Clock DVA kept gigging in their first incarnation until 1981 following Stephen Turner's sudden death in September 1981 due to an accidental drug overdose; he was 26. Following their disbanding Quail, Collins and Widger formed a band called The Box, eventually fronted by Peter Hope, and were active until 1985. Newton still continues to record and play under the Clock DVA name today, song wise still very much adhering to DVA's obsessional counterculture/magick/technology/conspiracy theory template.

The Human League's original incarnation came to an end late in 1980. I won't recite their subsequent history, but they, along with Heaven 17 (briefly) were the unwritten success story of this piece.

I'm So Hollow never did venture to gig in London, although they recorded a John Peel session there in August 1980, a couple of months after I saw them rehearse. They disbanded a year later, just before the release of their one and only album, the very fine if scratchily recorded 'Emotion/Sound/Emotion', and a fab single 'Dreams to Fill the Vacuum', which still deservedly crops up on compilation albums. ISH's keyboard player/vocalist Jane Wilson, who I recall came across in interview as disinterested but also rather shy, subsequently moved into animal welfare and, as Jane Antcliff-Wilson, wrote a pro vegan animal activism book. You can hear a demo they recorded at Western Works in 1979 here. Rod Leigh went on to join Workforce, a wonky funk band very much in the Fon/Chakk vein, although their only single, 1985's 'Skin Scraped Back' was released on the Cabs' Doublevision label to little acclaim.

And there you have it. My article never did find its way into print, so this account will have to serve as a record of my brief time in the Steel City. Some of the conclusions I've reached in the article may be entirely my own take on events, but it was my experience; I hope no one is offended. I feel very privileged to have met the cast of musicians and creatives about whom I've written, albeit relatively briefly, and the fact that I've been able to recall many of these events over 45 years later is testament to the importance that this very brief time had on my life. It is, indeed, a funny old world.