{"id":15942,"date":"2024-01-15T13:19:38","date_gmt":"2024-01-15T13:19:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/cassandravoices.com\/?p=15942"},"modified":"2024-01-15T13:19:38","modified_gmt":"2024-01-15T13:19:38","slug":"allen-jones-pulling-the-trigger","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/2024\/01\/15\/allen-jones-pulling-the-trigger\/","title":{"rendered":"Allen Jones: Pulling the Trigger"},"content":{"rendered":"

When it comes to veteran rock journalists, few could lay more genuine claim to the title than Allan Jones. After joining Melody Maker<\/em> as cub reporter in 1974, with no previous writing experience, but an application letter which concluded: \u2018Melody Maker<\/em> needs a bullet up its arse. I\u2019m the gun \u2013 pull the trigger\u2019, he rose to editing the magazine ten year later. On leaving the fabled inky at the height of the excesses of Brit Pop \u2013 about which he was less than enthusiastic \u2013 he founded and edited Uncut<\/em>, providing a British-based forum for the emerging Americana\/New Country scene. Now in semi-retirement, he has produced two volumes of rock\u2019n\u2019roll anecdotage \u2013 2017\u2019s Can\u2019t Stand Up for Falling Down<\/em><\/a><\/span>, and the recently published Too Late To Stop Now<\/em><\/a><\/span>. Des Traynor<\/strong><\/a><\/span> caught up with him to discuss these and sundry other matters at last year\u2019s Kilkenny Rhythm\u2019n\u2019Roots Festival<\/a> <\/span>(a.k.a. \u2018the best little weekend music festival in Ireland \u2013 and the known universe\u2019), now celebrating its 25th<\/sup> anniversary.<\/span><\/p>\n

It seems like there are more lengthy pieces in this book than the last one?<\/strong><\/p>\n

Yeah, partly due to the circumstances in which it was written. The first book they were interested more in a compilation of the stories as they were already written, and I didn\u2019t really think of elaborating on them. I just packed the book with as many stories as possible, which meant that a lot of them had to be shorter than they could have been. I started writing stories for the second one just at the beginning of the first lockdown. As I explained in the book, I thought people would be using their time productively \u2013 you know, learning the harpsichord or how to juggle or a foreign language, whatever.<\/em><\/p>\n

You didn\u2019t want to emerge empty-handed?<\/strong><\/p>\n

Yes, I mean, I could quite happily have spent lockdown getting stoned and watching Netflix, there\u2019s loads of movies. I\u2019ve got a link to the BFI player. So, endless hours of viewing available, and a vast record collection I could reacquaint myself with \u2013 but when I started writing the stories there was no inhibition in terms of words, so I tended to let the stories dictate the length they would be.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Were you always confident about your own abilities as a writer and critic, or did you feel like maybe you were a bit out of your depth when you started?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I had loads of opinions. I wouldn’t call them well-informed in a lot of instances, but they were opinions and I wasn\u2019t shy about sharing them. That came out of an Art School background. If there was one thing that Art School taught me, it was that you had to stand up for your work and your opinions, and be unfazed by criticism. So I hadn\u2019t realised that at the time, but it did give me a lot of confidence, more bravado and bluff really.<\/em><\/p>\n

But you could do the work?<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was very simple. I wasn\u2019t stupid. I\u2019d read Melody Maker for years. I\u2019d recognised the basic template of writing a 2000 word feature on somebody who\u2019d just had a chart hit. You went in, you established the fact that they had a new single, let them tell you how it was different from the last single, how it was a step forward, how it was a new vision for the band or whatever. That usually took about five minutes. To liven things up, you\u2019d hope that one of the band\u2019s chart rivals had a new single out. So you\u2019d ask them for an opinion on that, hopefully it would be a bit controversial, they\u2019d slag it, which would give Ray Coleman the chance to put a big headline on the cover: \u2018Sweet slam Rubettes\u2019, or \u2018Shawaddywaddy slam Glitter\u2019. And all they would say, basically, was \u2018I\u2019m not really keen on it\u2019, or \u2018It\u2019s not very good\u2019. But that was enough: that stirred up a bit of controversy.<\/em><\/p>\n

The other thing I learned to get a band talking was to tell them that you\u2019d heard a rumour that one of them was leaving, or doing a solo album. And sometimes they\u2019d go: \u2018How did you know that?\u2019 \u2018Oh, just a wild guess.\u2019 But it would get them talking about band dynamics. But I found that, a band like Mud for instance, who were really sweet guys, they were used to churning out these interviews, very pat answers. They weren\u2019t really engaged with the interview process. But if you stopped for a drink with them, after they got this contractual obligation out of the way, I\u2019d start asking them about their early days: anecdotes galore! Fucking brilliant stuff! Les Gray: really a very funny man. So I started to introduce some of those anecdotes to change the shape of the copy that was expected. At first they\u2019d just get cut out, \u2018Stick to the news story that you\u2019ve been sent to do.\u2019 So I just started to fracture that as much as I could. And although I hadn\u2019t read Lester Bangs or people like that, I had read Tom Wolfe, and I\u2019d read Hunter S. Thompson. I had an idea of what the new journalism was: contravening traditional journalistic rules about not involving yourself in the story. So I started introducing myself as a character. At first, they were the bits that would be cut. But as I became more successful at that kind of integration, the opportunities opened up. I mean, at that time, I would accept anything they asked me to do. I\u2019d never written before, and I had to learn how to write well and quickly. So \u2018I\u2019ll do anybody, just send me out, I\u2019ll do it. I\u2019ll come back and I’ll write it up and see where we go from there.\u2019 And once as the readers\u2019 responses started to come in\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

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Lou Reed in 1977.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

You hit it off with Lou Reed?<\/strong><\/p>\n

How extraordinary was that? I could have wept. I was such a huge, huge Velvets\u2019 fan.<\/em><\/p>\n

Why do you think he took a shine to you?<\/strong><\/p>\n

When I walked in, with some presence of mind, I pressed record on my tape recorder. And for twenty minutes there was just this torrent of abuse. His first words to me were, \u2018Do you know your head is too big for your body?\u2019 And \u2018What toilet did Melody Maker find you in, faggot?\u2019 It was effortless on his part. It just went off. But I was just laughing. This was the Lou Reed I wanted. I could feel the piece writing itself. And I thought even if he tells me to fuck off when he\u2019s finished this tirade, I\u2019m gonna have enough to write something.<\/em><\/p>\n

I then took a breath. And I just said something like, \u2018Are you doing this because this is what you think I expected Lou Reed to be like? Or is this you being Lou Reed? Or are you just turning it on because, you know, you think this is how the public want to see you?\u2019 And he thought about that, and he said, \u2018Sit down\u2019. So I sat down, and he said, \u2018Drink?\u2019, and pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red, the first of two that we got through that day. I think, because I had a sense of humour, and I wasn\u2019t intimidated by him, he just liked it. And I wasn\u2019t deferential to him, and I think he liked that as well.<\/em><\/p>\n

And at the end of the interview, when the chief of press came in, Lou said, \u2018By the way, book Allan into the hotel I\u2019m staying in in Sweden. You\u2019re coming on the road with me.\u2019 And I thought he\u2019d forget about it, but come the next Tuesday, there was a fucking limo outside my flat, drove me to the airport, got on a flight to Stockholm, there was a car waiting at Stockholm airport, took me straight to the hotel, and Lou is waiting in the lobby, saying, \u2018Where have you been?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n

What about Van Morrison, whose music you obviously love, but all your encounters with him were \u2018difficult\u2019.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Well, the first one especially, it was backstage at Knebworth, not ideal. He\u2019d just come off stage, in a sulky mood. In the end, I just said, \u2018Fuck it, man. If you\u2019re not gonna chat, you know, we\u2019re wasting time. I\u2019ve got things to do, you\u2019ve got things to do, I\u2019m gonna leave.\u2019 I was fuming, absolutely fuming. But I must say it never dented my admiration or love for his work. His work transcends any personal faults that he has, and to this day it does.<\/em><\/p>\n

He is a paranoid fucker.<\/strong><\/p>\n

He\u2019s always been like that. People who know him better than I would will trace it back to the way he was treated in the early part of his career. So comprehensively ripped off that he just hates the music business, which has offered him such success. So I can understand that level of bitterness. But five minutes in the presence of virtually anything that Van\u2019s recorded, and any kind of negative thoughts that I have about him as a person \u00a0immediately evaporate. I saw four gigs over three months, that they played just after COVID, at the Palladium, Hampton Court, a small Dingwall\u2019s gig he did, and then at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. And he was just incredible each time, absolutely astonishing.<\/em><\/p>\n

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Over lockdown Dara Waldron grew fascinated by the 1921 killing of Winnie Barrington. This chimed with Van Morrison's music and led to dreams of a journey North.https:\/\/t.co\/4lzMnojmB3<\/a>@vanmorrison<\/a> @dineensparish<\/a> @BowesChay<\/a> @BenPantrey<\/a> @corourke91 @danwadewriter<\/a> @Nialler9<\/a><\/p>\n

— CassandraVoices (@VoicesCassandra) July 21, 2022<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n