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Siouxsie
was already becoming a 'face', so I set out on a mission to help her
become a significant artist, little knowing how difficult it would be
for record companies to accept a strong female character. Although
Siouxsie's performance at the 100 Club Punk Festival in 1976.
After that they toured relentlessly, building up a large fan base and
learning to play in the process. Kenny Morris took over the Mo
Tucker-style drumming from Sid (Vicious) and, for a short period, Peter
Fenton was the guitarist, but was replaced by the darker John
McKay. Until they were signed, the group didn't have any
equipment, so they borrowed drum kits, amps, etc. from support
acts. During that farcical formative period, Siouxsie became a
formidable presence on stage, showing no fear in facing up to her
fucking ferocious audiences. In fact, as the venues got bigger, it
became easier for her, as she was further away from the flying bottles
and gob. Because Siouxsie looked so stunning there was naturally a
lot of interest from the press, and the group matured in the media
spotlight. Siouxsie's face launched a thousand looks as fans of
the Ice Queen, as she was dubbed in Sounds magazine, started
copying her style. In rock stakes, she also became the
intimidating English brunette antidote to New Yorker Debbie Harry's
pretty, blonde, poptastic punk princess.
Nils Stevenson
We had worked almost non-stop for
18 months up and down the motorway. We played shit clubs, usually
borrowing equipment from the support band because we never had any
equipment of our own. Nils wanted to build up a big myth. He
nurtured us, as did Leee Childers, the Heartbreakers' manager. The
Heartbreakers were brilliant; they gave us money, lent us equipment and
gave us studio time.
Steve Severin
I was extremely passionate about
the group, never doubting that they would be huge, and I looked upon
their development as a long-term project. At times my obsession
with excellence drove the group completely nuts but, for a long period,
the two important members of the foursome, namely Siouxsie and Steve
(Severin), accepted my neurotic behaviour as par for the course (for
which I am eternally grateful). However, defying everyone's advice
to the contrary, and denying all my instincts for self-preservation, I
flew a little too close to the Ice Queen, and my wings were badly
frost-bitten.
Nils Stevenson
Nils always had his eyes set on a
bigger deal, a bigger label. He knew you needed real commitments
from a label with decent money.
Steve Severin
If a record company did offer a
pathetic deal, as Decca did, I turned it down. Many of the punk
acts around took whatever was offered. I' on the other hand,
refused to accept crumbs off the table for an act I knew would add a
significant chapter to the cultural story, and I determined to use our
greatest disadvantage to great advantage. Instead of being embarrassed
about the lack of interest from labels, I played up the fact that record
companies were overlooking one of the biggest live acts in the
country. This made a newsworthy story for the music papers, who
came out in support of the group, and further increased interest from
punters. In the eyes of their fans, Siouxsie and the Banshees were
the last outlaws.
Nils Stevenson
We sold out the Roundhouse without
having put a single record out, not even a couple of John Peel
sessions. We had a large group of fans. They respected us
because we were right there at the beginning. Also, the music was
different. Siouxsie was the first sexy woman in British punk, and
half the audience would be Siouxsie clones. By 1978 there were all
kinds of second-division bands, but the Pistols were off to America and
the Clash toured Europe. Of course you could see the Stranglers
anywhere, but they were the Stranglers. So if you wanted to see a
premier league punk band, you could see the Banshees at the Roundhouse.
Steve Severin
All good things come to an end,
and in June 1977 Polydor capitulated and signed Siouxsie and the
Banshees. Since Siouxsie, Steve and I shared a common vision, I
co-produced the group's first single, 'Hong Kong Garden', with the
then-unknown and untested Steve Lillywhite (Polydor had a shit
fit). This was a perverse love song to a Chinese take-away.
It was a delightful piece of nonsense designed specifically for chart
success that became a Top 10 hit when it was released in September
1978. Silencing the non-believers and proving to Polydor that we
knew our audience, we were given free rein to do whatever we
wanted. Sales of the single had, after all, recouped the whole
£20,000 advance. During my tenure as manager, we were never in
debt for more than a few months at the beginning of each new option to
Polydor because every new single would put us back in the black, which
meant they had no leverage. Despite Polydor's misgivings, we even
left the hit single off the debut album, The Scream, which was
released to universal critical acclaim. It went on to become a
ground-breaking hit record (Polydor heaved a sigh of relief). We
then, in effect, treated the major record company like an indie
label. We were totally focused and I was able to build up an
autonomous operation in which we had our own agent for live shows,
working alongside me in my office. Since the group spent most of
their time working, they had full-time roadies and a
minder/driver. Everything went back into Siouxsie and the Banshees
in the form of wages for staff and equipment, rather than flats, houses
or cars. These methods of operation enabled the Banshees to
develop, unhindered, a unique sound, stage and media presence, away from
the influence of record companies, stylists or any other
outsiders. They rapidly evolved into a major musical force, way
beyond the stereotypical contrivances of many of their punk
contemporaries. Indeed, they invented a whole new style - Goth.
Nils Stevenson
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