It was late 1977, just a year after having witnessed the Sex Pistols troubled return to the Lesser Free Trade Hall that I trundled off merrily with my tight green cords and cap-sleeve T-shirt (the Camel T-Shirt and Desert boots now well and truly hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe) to Rafters night-spot on Oxford Road, Manchester to see Newcastle punksters Penetration if memory serves.

"God I hope its not Warsaw supporting …AGAIN"… was the usual rallying cry. No disrespect of course, but being managed by one Rob Gretton - who also happened to be the club DJ - meant the opening act at this particular hostelry usually included Ian Curtis, Peter Hook Barney Sumner and various drummers…or so it seemed. This night though Warsaw/Joy Divison were nowhere to be seen… instead I was introduced to a band that within the space of a few months would change my life…the fall.

Before they even cracked open a chord it became apparent that this lot were far from the usual punk rock fodder. The singer had a large tri-angular head and shouted a lot, but crucially he didn’t shout "Destroy this" or " f**k that"… he sung about paranoia… drugs… Bingo Masters and Dresden Dolls. All this to the strains of one of the most talented guitarists I’d ever come across, Martin Bramah…. staring into the middle distance whilst taking the top of your head of with treble-ridden staccato riffs.

History would have it that eight months down the line I’d be playing bass guitar alongside Martin in the same band that had become to mean so much to me. History would also have it - inexplicably - that one year later I would be taking Martin’s place as guitarist in the band. He’d formed an escape committee and quit alongside the equally gifted drummer Karl Burns. Inevitable really as the inter-band power-struggle was all but lost and ’the fall’ had become a band of "Northern white crap that talks back"…who got told off by their singer for talking back! Ho hum. This turn of events was doubly traumatic for me at the time. Not only had we lost a brilliant guitarist and song-writer…but I now had to fill his shoes….actually, it took two of us!

I did my best for the fall (which four years later turned out to be not good enough) as Martin turned front-man and formed The Blue Orchids. Though our relationship became slightly furtive due to our respective loyalties, I tried to see The Blue Orchids as often as possible, as much to ogle Martin stabbing that Frankenstein upside-down black Stratocaster of his as to find out in what direction his new band was taking him …and if the songs were any good!

Of course they were…as this collection will testify. Though no Pavarotti, Martin’s voice was the perfect companion to his taut fractious guitar playing whilst the swirling organ hooks finally dragged you in. Think Tom Verlaine guesting with The Doors. So - from being the guitarist in a non-singer band he’d become the singer in a non-singer band...and at their best they were one of the most engaging and intriguing bands of the 80’s.

Marc (Lard) Riley
December 2001