November 3rd – For me the Cisco Kid was the epitome of
the American cowboy…and that horse! I guess that’s what first got me onto
horses…that piebald/skewbald horse of his (couldn’t tell, B/W TV, remember) the
saddle, bridle and bit and his clothes…ivory-handled six-guns in holsters of
what were obviously, in my imagination, made from the hide of a deer shot at
extreme distance by The Kid and his
trusty Winchester… It took my first viewing
of The Wild Bunch to finally dislodge
this dreamscape from my mind, but this ingrained vision of the pristine cowboy
took some shifting and that’s because the stereotype was refreshed and renewed
in another main educator of mine.
On repeated visits to my local cinema (Penn Cinema in Wolverhampton)
and as part of the uncontrollable herd known colloquially as Saturday Morning Picture House, amongst
other fare were the cowboys of Tom Mix, Whip Wilson, George Montgomery and
James Ellison, and these were the rough-tough hombres upon which I’d base my childhood
characters when, on release into the sunshine, my friends and I would re-enact
the feats of derring-do in the woodland near my home. Apart from developing my
taste for the fanciful, the other life-forming happening of these times was the
event that took place every Saturday just before the films started.
In a somewhat forlorn effort to keep a modicum of control over the
serried ranks of pre-teen devastation, the house sound system was plumbed into
a record player and the management would play the hit records of the time…at
full volume. Great plan that, to take three-hundred super-hyped,
E-number-riddled children fed on a diet of 1950’s sweets (all stuffed full with
every chemical known to man) and then play them hepped-up early rock ‘n’ roll;
excellent plan. Did it work? Did it fuck. So, in order to gain some kind of
credible control, the management would invite six or eight children onto the
narrow stage in front of the screen to mime-play along with the songs being
broadcast. This would at least cut the marauding numbers down by those on stage
plus a few of their friends; not much difference but when you’re faced with
wall-to-wall hysteria any drop in the stalls mayhem is a help. I can well
remember the one and only time I was selected (hauled out from the melee by my
collar) to be a stage performer. I was handed a tea-chest and single twine-dressed
broomstick was thrust into my sticky paws and, along with five other kids, was
thrust out onto the stage: Bugger me, was that a defining moment or what. One
of the songs I recall us accompanying (yup, it made THAT big an
impression…turned me into the show-off I am today) was Freight Train by Lonnie Donegan who died this day in 2002.
Better known for his novelty songs here was a man who’s influence
kick-started the careers of many of the greatest performers and bands of all
time…of all time. Tom Jones, The Who, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Elton
John, Queen, Van Morrison, The White Stripes to name a select few; indeed it
was Jack White who said at his acceptance speech at the Brit Awards;
Remember, Lonnie Donegan
started it for you.
And, in a way, he started it for insignificant me. I’d like to
think, in my own small way with my own meagre output of rock from the 60’s
through to the 90’s that I’ve paid back a little of the debt.
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