During my London live music carousing in the 1980s and early 1990s Mick Mercer was a genial and reliable presence, often sat at a corner table, always chatting with the endless supply of T-shirted indie musos who were often the entire audience for a gig and seldom indulging in the snarky, jealous back biting that comes with a scene of desperate and desperately poor musicians aware of the tiny space into which they all must somehow fit and survive.
Equally, he was nearly always in the room with the live music, whoever was on, near the front, snapping on a series of small, cheap cameras and building up a huge archive of photos that record, in fact, often are the only record of, bands who appeared and disappeared like phantoms in a sea fog.
His positive disposition was reflected in his writing, for Melody Maker and, earlier, for Zigzag magazine. If he wrote negative criticism it was always couched in encouraging terms. ‘Can do better and should for the sake of all of us.’
Still writing Panache, his fanzine begun during punk’s pre-historic age, now as a Substack and a free daily email, and still visiting gigs — his presence at a concert in Folkestone delighted me last year — it was as if he had been moved bodily from Kentish Town’s Bull & Gate and plonked into the future, the only thing missing being cigarette smoke.
Below are a selection of hand chosen photos from his massive collection, that have a particular resonance for him and, below that, a fascinating snapshot of an interview that takes you to a cultural time that is still not well documented.
but first a gallery
1 – THE DAMNED AND THE ADVERTS - Camden Roundhouse April 1977
"Let’s start with something terrible then. I lost the original negatives, but here was a brilliant gig (Motorhead sandwiched in the middle) but all I have is this tiny scrap and one remaining copy of my fanzine in which about a dozen of the photos were included."
2 – BLONDIE – Roundhouse, March 1978.
"I’m almost amazed I got something this good, and this close, with neither any kind of zoom lens or access to the photographer’s pit."
3 – ADAM & THE ANTS – Marquee, November 1978
"Just as The Adverts were my favourite band of 1977 so the Ants took over from 1978, and remained so until the poor chap went pop."
4 – THE CLASH – Music Machine, December 1978
"Trying to get any kind of decent shot down the front of a punk gig was hard enough but at Clash gigs well nigh impossible as you found yourself inside a seething human cauldron, so I’m pretty pleased with this one."
5 – THE RUTS - Music Machine 1979
"People in bands seem to die every day now, but losing someone as brilliant as Malcolm Owen back then was a real shock, given the warmth, wit and passion in his voice. The best of all the punk singers. I like this shot because it looks like he’s whirling a tiny version of bassist Segs around."
6 – THE DANCING DID – Evesham 1981.
"My all-time favourite British band, captured close to their home town of Evesham when I went up there to interview them for Zigzag magazine. Sadly Stuart (right of shot) died shortly afterwards, and this was their best, coolest lineup. A stunning band whose music still resonates down the decades, because there wasn’t anyone else like them at the time, and hasn’t been since."
7 – AUSGANG – London 1984
Similarly, Ausgang were a musical oddity during Goth days, at a time when people welcomed such imagination, but as the genre moved towards a more rock-based phase at the height of its popularity so they were pushed to the periphery. Quality counts however, and they’ve returned to action, (careers allowing) this century to find audiences that weren’t even born when they first played loving their music even more."
8 – JUNIOR MANSON SLAGS – London 1987
"I don’t know who took this, as that’s me in the hat. I loved the wild punk/goth/rock’n’roll mashup that was Junior Manson Slags, capable of creating the wildest noise in town. Camden legend Finn Panton (R.I.P.) is somewhat the worse for wear bottom right. Music journalists developed a ferocious capacity for alcohol and could drink any band under the table (quite useful in getting lively interviews). I’m amazed I still have a liver."
9 – SOHO – Timebox (Bull & Gate) 1987
"My all-time favourite venue, with the Timebox (86/87) and Hype (88/89) nights being particularly special, and here’s Soho bring their verve and variety to the stage, with a particularly cool backdrop. Soho were the best of the early bands there."
10 – JON BEAST (R.I.P.)
"A lovely character, with a real taste for musical mayhem, as well as great taste in bands generally, Jon was the most inspirational character I met during the 80’s. Much missed."
11 – THE WIGS - Bull & Gate 1990
"Along with Junior Manson Slags, The Wigs were the most exciting noisy band in town, and the most effective as Slags gigs could easily meltdown into total chaos. Depending on what was happening I’d sometimes help out at Bull & Gate gigs. Here I’m in the light box during The Wigs’ final ever gig, briefly doing their lights, yet still managing to get some shots. Those are my fags, that’s my lager … but whose video camera is filming it?!!! I’d love to see that."
12 – BOILERMEN – 2Oth Century Speedway, July 2024
"Flash forward a billion years and I’m still taking photos when the opportunities arise. We’re lucky to have several decent gigs near us in Folkestone, and Speedway has a similar atmosphere to the classic Jon Beast ventures at the Bull & gate, with promoter Mark also having remarkable ears for talent. So, I’m happy. Boilermen are a great band, you should seek them out."
interview
Outideleft: What made you start Panache, your fanzine, in 1976?
Mick Mercer: I’d left school in 1975, with only one real wish, to become a writer. I never doubted I’d do it, as you don’t at that age, but I had no idea what form this would all take. When I was about 14 I’d written to Radio 4 enquiring what sort of jobs they might have involving writing, and someone actually got me up there for an interview and went through the possibilities with me, about research, script editing etc. That was interesting, and encouraging, although he said they wouldn’t take anyone under 18, but pointed out a degree wouldn’t be necessary.
I’d started going to gigs with friends from school and was seriously shocked at how lacklustre most of the bands were. Then Punk happened, which I found interesting in the music papers, which I devoured most weeks, and one day a bloke at work brought in the first issue of Sniffin’ Glue fanzine and suddenly everything fell into place.
OL: Did you have any education in writing - university, college, apprenticeship as a cub reporter…?
MM: God no. I’d written a one-off magazine satirising life at school, housed in a ring-bound folder and added to through the years, which was regularly passed around, but it was partly to keep myself entertained as I found school seriously boring,
It was a grammar school which seemed to think it was pretty classy stuff, intent on reminding us we were the ‘cream of society’ (whereupon you’d look round at your equally idiotic mates and think, ‘really?’). To please my Dad I attended an interview at Warwick University (arranged by two great young teachers who had a mate there, as they felt I’d benefit from the university experience). He agreed to let me do British & American History, or whatever it was called, but pointed out I’d have to wait a year as I was born mid-July. (I’m assuming this weirdness no longer happens?)
I forgot it had even been offered after a while. I was working, via job agencies, going to gigs. Life had been re-set. Later, after a few years of Panache, I started freelancing for music papers. Nobody ever asked about journalistic qualifications. I don’t think by then anyone expected anyone to have any. You needed an ability to write, clearly, but more important was confidence and an ear for new bands.
OL: You eventually became editor of Zigzag magazine. Zigzag (in my memory) was probably ahead of the NME when it came to punk, making a point of covering garage rock bands and the pub rock scene when the mainstream music press were writing about Rory Gallagher. How did you get on with the other writers and, in particular, Kris Needs? Were they as rocknroll as they seemed?
MM: Funnily enough I loved Rory Gallagher – rock with no pretensions. Zigzag was a wonderful magazine, which I bought every month when it was changed by Kris Needs into the best source of punk material in the country. Before that I’d picked up a few issues but only when it had a specific band that interested me. It had that enthusiasm which felt natural rather than forced (unlike the NME), and I got on with everyone there except the publisher, which is quite another story. It was a rock ‘n’ rolly place. Everyone was a character.
Kris is/was a lovely guy (he’s got his own Substack going and a youtube channel) but the weird thing is we didn’t spend much time together. The publisher being such a dick meant I think we were both happy spending as little time in the office as possible, so a couple of days each week (maximum) was all that was required. You could arrange some of it at home anyway. By overlapping we could ensure there was one of us there most days. Kris would often be on tour with a band for a story which lessened his need to put up with the publisher’s idiocy even more. When they sacked Kris I had been ready to leave and try to freelance for Melody Maker, the paper I’d always loved the most. I stayed on at Zigzag just to keep it going until someone bought it. (They were actively touting for buyers.) Within three months of becoming Editor I’d had so many disagreements with the publisher I was actually banned from the office.
OL: Starting early, you took photos of bands you were reviewing or interviewing. This was unusual, I can’t think of any other music writers who did that, unless as a keepsake. How did you end up taking photos
MM: Yeah, it was a bit weird. There were three of us at work (in a dole office) who decided to do Panache as a team, although that changed fairly speedily into me doing most of it. We knew we needed photos and decided one of us should be The Photographer. We all borrowed family cameras and went to a gig each. I was the only one who got some in focus and useful. I remember one guy went to a Michael Chapman gig at the Nashville and somehow got a whole film of the back of Chapman’s head! Arty, I guess, but not what we needed. So that it, I was tasked with doing photos.
It wasn’t something I found easy. I got better in time, I suppose, but the best advice I ever got was from the amazing Neil Anderson (still out photographing small gigs every week, and running the website Wildblanket Photography) who did the unusual photo-based fanzine The Poser. He said, ‘keep it on 1/60th and get as close as you can.’ Wise words.
OL: How many photos of bands do you think you have now? And where do you keep them?
MM: The negatives are in twenty or so ring-bounded photographer’s files, but I’ve scanned them all, and what I do these days are digital. All in all (having just checked what’s on my computer), I have about one hundred thousand images.
OL: As long as I have known you, you have championed underdogs and you are probably the most even-handed writer I’ve met. How did you manage to hang on to your soul when you were surrounded by the cynicism of the UK music press?
MM: I think it’s because the fanzine background meant something real to me. Moving from Zigzag to the music papers I did find there were some writers on Melody Maker and NME who clearly thought that made them special. I always thought of myself as ‘the bloke who does Panache’. I never once applied for a staff position at Melody Maker when I might have had a chance during my first few years there. I loved being freelance, and always got on with other freelancers, from all of the papers. I kept Panache going all through my time on the papers. I even used their photocopier to do some issues when no-one was about.
There was a silly divide between the Maker and NME, made extra ridiculous as we both shared the same pub when IPC dragged all of its titles from separate offices around London and housed them all in the grotty hi-rise building in Waterloo. I’ve actually forgotten what it was called, but the big tower in Stamford Street. Apparently it’s now luxury flats, mainly owned by Russian ‘investors’ and there’s more security staff than people living there.
I loved it best when the Maker was in Holborn and we had the Oporto pub two doors away. Glorious chaos. Freelancers are what made the papers tick. We found the bands, and then labels signed them up. That simple. The strange thing was I would meet freelancers from other papers out at gigs, and we always all got on, but you never ran into staff writers. It’s like we set the ball rolling, and they took over with the big articles, as that was cheaper for the papers.
I was never into writing about myself, I just wanted to share my enthusiasm about bands, the way people had when I first started reading the papers. Somehow during the 80’s that changed and became horribly self-indulgent which drove readers away. At the start of the eighties everyone read more than one paper a week, but by the end of the decade I knew virtually no-one who bought papers, and yet everyone I knew was mad about music. The music press basically killed itself, which is demented.
With circulations plummeting you also got seriously dodgy publishers everywhere and after a few years of writing for people who never paid I decided to stick to writing for myself, through books or online. I’d tried getting publishers (and record labels) in 1992 interested in magazines about the new tech and the Internet because I insisted this was going to change every aspect of modern life, but I was told they were ‘only interested in commercial ideas’! From 1995 on, for a good few years, I tried to get the major labels to buy new commercial ideas which would have made labels creative and exciting again, but to no avail. Again, they didn’t understand what the Internet was, so my idea for what essentially became Spotify wasn’t taken up. (Mine was an ethical version, with a 50-50 split between label and artists.) That lost them billions, which is pretty funny.
I never did a print zine again but I did over 50 issues during the noughties of a free pdf mag called The Mick, basically Panache in a new guise. Should just have called it Panache really.
OL: It’s unlikely, I’m sure, but have you made enemies over the years? It’s hard not to in the music business…
MM: A few. Some people on the papers didn’t like my style and didn’t want to use me, rather than disliking me as a person, but there have been histrionic reactions from within the Goth community when I’ve dared use levity in my books, which some see as sacrilege. Someone even had someone else run me over! Madness, really.
Overall though it’s never been a problem and I’m still in touch (mainly online) with most of the writers, photographers and designers I worked alongside. We shared a similar spirit, and great times together, and I think most still have that. We didn’t do what we did for money or accolades. We did it because of the music.
OL: What would be the interviews that have meant the most to you?
MM: I don’t have any favourites. As long as I found someone interesting that was all that was required for an interview to happen. Big or small, didn’t matter.
OL: Goth would have been hard to predict in 1976. Apart from Dave Vanian’s look were there signs that suggested the coming of Goth?
MM: Yes, little dark strains emanating out of punk suggested there could be more to it than a one-dimensional attack based on righteous anger. Even in 1977 you could see the ghostly Gloria Mundi at the Marquee, often supporting Ultravox! when the brilliant John Foxx was vocalist and he gave them a very futuristic noir vision. That’s the kind of thing I was looking for, something unsettling and atmospheric.
OL: Out of all the bands you met or saw who, would you say, were the most Goth and why? And who were the least Goth despite their best efforts?
MM: Bauhaus. Once they got their image together they looked like a silent movie had been dragged into the future and set ablaze, sound and vision. No-one has topped them for looks. I don’t think anyone can be a failure at Goth, unless they take the gormless vampire route and get that wrong. Vampire styling can be done right, but needs a hint of humour. When it’s played dead straight it can be ludicrous. A band called Chateau Royale springs to mind.
The funniest thing has always been the bands who insist they’re not Goth, especially when what they’re doing is entirely based on previous Goth bands, including their imagery. No-one is going to criticise someone for actively stating, ‘we are a Goth band’. You’re more likely to get respect for that. Goth bands who tried to shy away from it have eventually come to appreciate it’s their goth audience that still enables them to make a living.
OL: Although you are known for writing extensively about Goth you have also covered a whole range of genres and styles. Did you find any genres bewildering or alien - for instance, how did you get on with Acid House?
MM: I didn’t. I was into early hip hop and some house, but I liked bands, and gigs, not clubs, so that was never of interest to me, just like I was never into Metal. You can’t be into everything.
OL: We met, properly, at the Bull & Gate, home of Timebox and HYPE! I spent many evenings there, but not as much as you. What was the particular attraction of that venue?
MM: It was fun, which automatically made a difference. My favourite traditional venue of all time was the Marquee when it was in Wardour Street. A temple, run by brilliant people who ensured it had a welcoming atmosphere, which again set it apart from other recognised venues on the circuit. I could be off my face, selling my fanzine in the entrance corridor, and no-one once told me off. The DJ’s welcomed you into their booth, you could have a drink with the bloke running the place at the bar, it was just an awesome venue.
Jon Beast replicated that feel at ground level and made the Bull & Gate a place you wanted to attend regularly regardless of who was onstage, which was unusual in itself, and he ensured a distinct appreciation for new things was enshrined in the venue, by having band members working the door, or handling stage duties. It was a venue run by people in bands and obviously into music, and the carried on through the other club nights such the Cube club, Pop Club, Butterfly Evolution and Interspace. I had to leave town during the mid-90s to relocate to the South coast to help my parents when they fell ill, but the Bull & Gate carried on with great promoters doing the same thing, with that same wonderful spirit. I think location also helped it. People could pop in before gigs at the Town & Country/Forum, and you had Kentish Town tube over the road. It was just the most brilliant place. Jon died horribly young and at his funeral I hope I was able to emphasise he was the most influential person I met in the 80’s.
And then along comes Mark at 20th Century Speedway in Folkestone doing something every bit as good as The Timebox and Hype! Having a local venue has given me a real shot in the brain.
OL: Somehow, many years since you started, you are still obviously a music fan and still have a keen interest in current releases. What are the things that surprise and delight you in the moments when a track or a concert become special?
MM: It is the element of surprise. The simple, basic delights, or the weirdness of sound. Recent examples are the Unglam movement, where women who are mainly in their forties and up started punk bands, and some of them are really good, Boilers being the best example. I downloaded the new album by a goth band called Plague Garden and it’s simple, direct and immersive. Then a new trio called The Elder Goths doing a weird filmic, sparse electronic thing, and someone like Tristwch Y Fenywod comes along, doing wonderfully eerie Welsh language pagan goth!
It's knowing that there’s always going to be something new and exciting coming along which is key. The complete opposite of whining that there’s nothing worth listening to anymore, which is what you hear from a lot of people as they get older. What they actually mean is they can’t be bothered to look and listen.
I’m having fun.
Essential Information
Main image Mick Mercer now
Find Mick Mercer on Substack, here
