STEVE GIBBONS: A PORTRAIT IN BLACK & BLUE
Julie Burchill of the New Musical Express, never one to mince her words when she cart hang, draw and quarter them first, said recently of Steve Gibbons: "Why is it that every redundant old rock 'n' roller who makes an effort to look like a fresh-faced post-punk contender ends up looking like a vain Latin waiter who's never pulled anything more thrilling than an outside lavatory chain?
STEVE GIBBONS: A PORTRAIT IN BLACK & BLUE
by Mike Flood Page
Julie Burchill of the New Musical Express, never one to mince her words when she cart hang, draw and quarter them first, said recently of Steve Gibbons: "Why is it that every redundant old rock 'n' roller who makes an effort to look like a freshfaced post-punk contender ends up looking like a vain Latin waiter who's never pulled anything more thrilling than an outside lavatory chain? Do you need it? Will the world quit turning without it? Music for the non-existent by the non-descript. Nothing they sing about matters and very likely nothing they think about matters."
A few days after that notice appeared I was sitting with Steve in a pub 'round the corner from London's Music Machine, where he was about to play. A Gibbons fan wandered up and congratulated him on being the only person ever to get a good review from the NME. Steve grinned. He could afford to. It was his second London headline within a month. He was following onto stage a die-hard punk roster climaxing with the amazonian Slits, and he stole the show. No problems.