18 The Guardian 05.01.06

Excuse me, weren’t yMark E Smith’s band is legendary for its ever-changing line-up. Dave S

It’s a Tuesday morning inDecember, and I’m ringingpeople called Brown inRotherham. “Hello,” I beginagain. “I’m trying to traceJonnie Brown who used to play

in the Fall. He came from Rotherhamand I wondered if you might be a rela-tive.” “The Who?” asks the latest MrBrown. “No. The Fall — the band fromSalford. He played bass for three weeksin 1978.” “Is this some kind of joke?”

This has been my life for weeks. I’vebecome an internet stalker and a tele-phone pest, all because of an obsessivedrive to track down everyone who hasever played in the Fall. That’s 40-oddpeople, including drummers abandonedat motorway services, guitarists left inforeign hotels and various wives andgirlfriends of the band’s provocateur-ringmaster, Mark E Smith (right).

The Fall lend themselves to obses-sion. In John Peel’s Record Box — whichcontained the late DJ’s favourite records— Fall records had an entire section tothemselves. Peel called them theMighty Fall: “the band against whichall others are judged”. More than 25

years after the band first formed, theiraudiences still include fans who don’tfollow other bands. Smith’s inspired,social sci-fi songs are revered by every-one from comedians Frank Skinner andStewart Lee to the designer CalvinKlein, artist Grayson Perry, and authorsIrvine Welsh and Philip K Dick.Musicians and music critics love them,too: David Bowie, Bo Diddley, ThomYorke and Alex Kapranos all claim to befans, and the band’s latest album (their26th), Fall Heads Roll, won a five-star review in the Guardian for its“paint-stripping riffs, hail of one-liners, withering put-downs andbewildering images”.

My own obsession with theband has been a long timein gestation. I first sawthem play at Leeds’ RileySmith Hall in 1981: thefact that the singer wascalled Smith and theguitarist (Marc) Rileyseemed to give thissome weird signifi-cance. As the bandapproached their 30th

year, I began to wonder if the Fall’s con-tinued relevance could be attributednot only to Smith’s genius way withsplenetic observations, but to the trailof havoc left by the revolving line-up.At the very least, I wondered where allthese people were. As Peel had said,noting that most former Fallers simplydisappear: “I don’t know if he’s killingthem or what.” So I resolved to trackthem down, not realising that thiswould involve afternoons writing

letters to defunct addresses inDoncaster and eight-hour sessionssearching for a single person.

I started with Smith, who sankpints of lager in a Manchester hotel

as he explained his policy ofsuccessively “freshening up”

the band. “It’s a bit like afootball team,” he said.“Every so often youhave to get rid of the

centre-forward.” Smithhas based his career on

looking forward, so he wasunlikely to give me numbersfor clarinet players who leftin 1981. The numerousC

ult

ure

≥ SimonWolstencroftDrums, 1986-97Now: musician‘I learned so muchabout life, justlistening to Mark’

≥ Brix SmithGuitar, 1983-89, 94-96Now: runs a boutique‘Mark fired asoundman for eating a salad’

≤ Steve DaviesDrums/congas, 1980Now: does musicworkshops in schoolsand prisons‘I refused to tour witha rock band ever again’

≤ Karen LeathamBass, 1988Now: Designer/carer‘Looking aftergentlemen withmental needs is not unlike being in a band’

Una BainesKeyboards, 1976-78Now: singer‘Mark is certainly not just an ogre’

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Ed BlaneyGuitar/tour manager,2000-04Now: ‘free man’‘My duties includedkeeping ex-membersout of the dressingroom’

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Julia Adamson(then Nagle)Keyboards/guitar,1995-2001Now: works at apublishing company‘I was quite poorlyafter dating Mark’

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The Guardian 05.01.06 19

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you in the Fall?impson made it his quest to track down everyone who has ever been a member

≥ Ruth DanielKeyboards, 2002Now: researcher/record label manager‘Mark would bark like a dog’

Keir StewartGuitar, 1997Now: runs a recording studio‘When a friend died I saw a different,humane side to Mark’

≤ Simon ArcherBass, 2003-04Now: musician‘All the stories andmyths about Markwere true’

Marc ‘Lard’ RileyGuitar, 1978-82Now: broadcaster‘I’m most proud ofbeing in the Fall. Itwas a start in life’

Nick DeweyDrums, 1999Now: Band manager‘It was like achildhood dream’

Paul HanleyDrums, 1980-85Now: works incomputing‘It’s a crazy band tobe in, but that’s whythey’re so good’

Steve HanleyBass, 1979-98Now: caretaker‘After a while in the Fall, you’re nolonger normal’

≥ Tommy CrooksGuitar, 1997-98Now: artist‘The Fall are the best British bandever, including the Beatles’

Dave TuckerClarinet, 1980-81Now: musician ‘Mark brought inpeople like me tomake the other guys nervous’

≤

Dave MilnerDrums, 2001-04Now: taxi driver‘The Fall is the band to be in if youdesire extremes’

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Marcia SchofieldKeyboards, 1986-90Now: doctor‘The Fall was like amedieval Italianprincipality, withsycophants andmandarins’

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Kay CarrollBacking vocals/man-agement, 1977-83Now: doctor’sassistant‘Mark never letanybody feel part of the Fall’

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20 The Guardian 05.01.06

record companies the Fall have hadover the years had only ever dealt withSmith. The Musicians Union claimed tohave “no information relating to any-body who was ever in the Fall”.

I did have another lead, however.Sixteen years ago I interviewed a mancalled Grant Showbiz, and rememberedthat he sometimes produced the Fall. Hegave me some numbers, though sadly,most of them were dead — the numbers,not the ex-members. But I did reachformer guitarist/sleeves man TommyCrooks, now an artist in East Lothian.He’d been a part of the Fall’s most noto-rious implosion, when the band (barSmith) had disintegrated following apunch-up on stage in New York in 1998.

Over a crackling phone line, Crooksrecounted what was to become a familiartheme. He describes being in the Fall as“the pinnacle of creativity” but with “alot of madness”. His first day in the bandwas spent rehearsing in a room wherethe lights kept going out; Smith would“unplug my amplifier and hold themicrophone up to the strings, just tofreak me out”. The New York punch-upkicked off, Crooks recalls, after Smithhad arrived in a particularly bad mood,having just been held at gunpoint by ataxi driver. Things were said on stageand “everything just went apeshit”.Crooks saw Smith being bundled into apolice car, and hasn’t heard from himsince. “I remember the band’s busdriver asking, ‘So what are this lot like,then?’ The soundman said, ‘This is asweird as it gets.’”

After a few days of trying to trackdown 43 former members of the Fall,things were getting pretty weird forme, too. Searching on the internet for“Mike Leigh”, the band’s 1980 jazz-cabaret drummer, was a nightmare:Google offered me 4,500,000 entriesrelating to the film director. I sent anemail to Manchester University asking:“Are you the Ruth Daniel who used toplay in the Fall?” and discovered a key-board player who lasted a day in 2002.She revealed that Smith liked to warmup for gigs by “barking like a dog”.

The more people I found, the morepunch-ups I heard about. Marc Riley —now a DJ but a Fall guitarist from 1978-82 — says he was sacked for hittingSmith back after the singer punished theband for an “average” gig by slappingeach musician in turn.

“Smith doesn’t do average,” saysbassist Steve Hanley, who met me in aManchester pub. “He’d rather do 10 greatgigs and 10 rubbish gigs than anythingin the middle.” Hanley’s fearsome bassdefined the Fall from 1979 until he, too,exited following the New York rumpus.After taking “two years to calm down”,he became a school caretaker. Heremembers post-gig inquests that wouldgo on for hours as Smith — seeking areaction — accused his bandmates of:“‘Playing like a fookin’ pub band.’ Chairswould fly. It was like guerrilla warfare.”

Some of this was tongue-in-cheek.Smith confessed to me that he used to

fine drummers £5 each time they hit thetom-tom, and that on tour in Europe hewould employ the “European phrase-book”, sending guitarists to say thingslike “I am a flower” in German. Hanley’sbrother Paul, a drummer, remembershow one of Smith’s favourite jokes wasto “take new members abroad just so hecould send them home”. Another wasto dismantle the band’s equipment inthe middle of a gig. “When you’re play-ing five or six nights a week the groupget slick,” Smith said in his defence. Forhim, routine is “the enemy of music”.

For all that he can be surreallyfunny, Smith’s intent is deadly serious.As a man called Eric the Ferret — theband’s bassist in 1978, and one of thepeople at whom Smith threw a chair —comments, sagely: “The Fall don’tcruise.” Among Smith’s tactics forinstilling the required creative tension,the trump card is threatening the sack.

Iwas curious to discover howlong the Fall had been inSmith’s control, so met TonyFriel, who founded the bandwith Smith, Martin Bramah,Una Baines and a drummer

usually called “Dave”, whose surnameno one can remember and who wassacked for being a Tory. Now living in aterraced house in Buxton, Friel, aboutthree years ago, played in the Wood-bank Street Band; it was thanks to theirwebsite that I tracked him down.

Friel had been “best mates” withSmith and even coined the band’sname (from the novel by Camus), buthadn’t lasted long, quitting over Smith’sdecision to bring in then-girlfriend KayCarroll on management and backingvocals. “I thought she muscled in,” hesays, “although Mark asked me to stay.”

I found Carroll, too, in Portland,Oregon. After emailing to ask if I was “a stalker”, she mailed me an hour oftaped Mancunian vitriol. “I knew thatMark got me in to fuck off Friel, and itworked,” she says. She believes Smithis a natural manipulator who knowswhen people have outlived their use-fulness. Carroll — who mastermindedthe early Fall’s hardline approach to the music industry — was herselfabandoned in a US bar in 1983.

The more people I found, the moreI’d hear how they were recruited fromthe road crew (Riley, Hanley) or fromsupport bands. Smith told me how once,when the rhythm section were late fora gig, he brought on players from thesupport band and was delighted whenthe errant pair walked in to see theirreplacements. In 2001 he drafted in thewhole of Trigger Happy to be the Fall,giving them only eight hours’ noticebefore they had to play a gig.

Brix Smith joined the Fall — andbecame the first Mrs Smith — after shemet Smith in America. Remarried, andwith the name Smith-Start, she nowruns Start fashion boutique in London.She tells how, the night they met, sheplayed Smith a demo of her band. “He

just said, ‘I like your songs. Can we usethem? Can you play on them?’ He’s sofucking smart I can’t tell you,” she sighs.“He wasn’t educated, but he wasextremely well-read. The way he lookedat the world was so different. Becausehe wouldn’t see things the same way,he wouldn’t speak the same way.”

A bizarre number of Fall membersseem to have come from the same 500square yards in Prestwich/Salford, orSmith’s local, the George, before it wasknocked down. Guitarist AdrianFlanagan recalls how, when he was 15,he would “put notes through Mark’sdoor saying: ‘You’re my hero. Everyoneelse is rubbish. Maybe when I’m oflegal drinking age, we could go for adrink?’” He soon ended up in the band— “He’d always give local kids a break.”

One of the strangest entrances isthat of Nick Dewey, who attended the1999 Reading festival as the manager ofthe Chemical Brothers and ended upon stage with the Fall. “This drunk man[guitarist Neville Wilding] came back-stage asking if anyone played drums,”he says. “The band had had a fight andleft the drummer at motorwayservices.” Dewey hadn’t played for 10years, but once a Chemical Brother puthis name forward, Wilding refused totake no for an answer. Dewey was ledto a darkened tour bus to meet Smith,“passed out with his shirt off. The gui-tarist had to punch him in the face towake him up. Then they began fightingover whether or not they should teachme the songs. Mark said no!” With ablood-covered Smith offering occa-sional prompts, Dewey pulled it off.

I tried to ask Wilding about this inci-dent but his neighbour said he was “inGuadalajara”. The neighbour is AdamHelal, who also appeared in the Fall,playing bass from 1998 to 2001. PerhapsSmith really can take any member ofthe public and “mould them”.

“I was a terrible guitarist when Ijoined aged 17,” agrees Ben Pritchard,who has survived in the guitar hot seatfor the past five years. “Maybe that’swhy Mark wanted me in the group. Thechallenge is to take someone wrong forthe group and make them right.” Hecompares the Fall frame of mind to that at “Boot Camp”. He has beenabandoned at airports to make his ownway to gigs; the band’s last tour was sostressful that, at 22, he is losing his hair.Why do it? “The Fall are making history,”he says. “I have nightmares, but it’snever boring. It’s not Coldplay.”

As the search continued, ex-Fallersstarted suggesting there should be“some sort of support group”, whileothers asked to be put back in touchwith people dumped in foreign climes,making me wonder if I should set up aFall Reunited website. Equally, I wasworried by the fates of the disappeared.In particular, Karl Burns — who was hiredand fired nine times between 1977 and1998 — seemed to have vanished afterpunching Smith on stage in the NewYork meltdown. Several former

Dave BushKeyboards, 1991-5Now: studying webdesign‘It was really tense;absolutely hilarious’

≤

Mike LeighDrums, 1979-80Now: ‘sellinginsurance’, accordingto Steve Hanley, whobumped into him inPC World

≤Tony Friel

Bass, 1976-77Now: engineer‘We were bestmates who fell out’

≤

±

The Guardian 05.01.06 21

members worried that he was dead.Some suggested he had “moved to thehills” in Rossendale, Lancashire, butappeals to the area’s local papers pro-duced nothing. Riley suggested I “trythe prisons”, which led me to Ed Blaney,who indeed left the Fall because he wassent to prison (“Dangerous driving,” hesays). He hadn’t seen Burns either.

When I caught up with former Fall/Elastica keyboard player Dave Bush(now studying web design in Wiltshire),he told how Burns once turned up for aUS tour armed only with sticks and ahat, was fired, spent two months ridingaround on a motorcycle before takingthe same flight home as the band. Bushcleared up one of the Fall’s biggestmysteries, the fate of foundingdrummer “Dave”. Bush knew him onthe Manchester party circuit as Steve,and says he became schizophrenicbefore throwing himself under a train.

Original keyboard player Una Baineshad a lead for Burns — “My friendBarbara says she thinks she saw him ayear ago. I’ll ask around” — and herown moving story. Over herbal tea in aChorlton cafe, she recalled how hertime in the Fall ended in two drug-induced nervous breakdowns andhospitalisation as a result of “wantingto break down every barrier. Musical.Personal. Mental. But contrary to whatMark says, he never sacked me. I wasjust too ill.” She recovered to make aclassic album in Blue Orchids’ TheGreatest Hit (with former husband andex-Faller Martin Bramah) and is now asinger with the Procrastinators.

There were just two names left.Guitarist Craig Scanlon — Fall fans’favourite — hadn’t given an interviewsince being sacked in 1995 and wasrumoured to work in the dole office.Contacting him involved negotiationswith a mysterious go-between called“Moey” before an email claimingScanlon is in “top secret governmentwork” arrived from the Department forWork and Pensions.

“Steve [Hanley] rang and said Markhad sacked the whole band,” Scanlonsays. “Then it was just me.” Accordingto Scanlon, Smith — who revealed in a2001 interview that firing the veteranguitarist was his “biggest mistake” —later invited him to a gig, something ofan olive branch, but “after three hoursin the pub with him I realised I wasbetter out of it”. Tantalisingly, Scanlonhad actually seen Burns, a “whileback”, when he’d been “scruffy, bigbeard . . . I thought he was a tramp”.

It reminded me of something Hanleysaid a month before: “Mark’s had allthese talented people in the band, butnot many have done anything withouthim. He must have something . . .” •

Fall Heads Roll is out now on Sanctuary. The labelcontinue reissuing the Fall back catalogue this month.

Charlotte BillOboe, 1990Now: documentarist‘I was only a guest,so neither left norgot sacked’

Adam HelalBass, 1998-2001Now: musician‘Mark has a PhD inmanipulation’

Karl BurnsDrums, 1977-98Now: whereaboutsunknown, despitemuch speculation

Martin BramahGuitar, 1976-79, 89-90Now: musician‘It’s all too personalfor publicconsumption’

Jim WattsGuitar, 2001-04Now: musician‘You’d get creditedfor songs you hadn’twritten and notcredited for ones you had’

Craig ScanlonGuitar, 1979-95Now: ‘top secretgovernment work’‘It was a very strangeupbringing’

Stuart EstellPlayed guitar fromaudience, 1998Now: folk musician‘Mark just handedme a guitar. It hadfive strings’

Eric ‘the ferret’McGannBass, 1978Now: musician‘You’ve got tobe a hard-case to bein the Fall’

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Simon RogersMulti-instrumentalist,1985-86Now: composer‘Mark told me to play “like afookin’ snake”’

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Brian FanningGuitar, 2001Now: minstrel‘He makes dementedsuggestions’

Yvonne PawlettKeyboards, 1978-79Now: biologist‘I never really fit in’

≤≤

Tom HeadDrums, 1998-2000Now: TV extraWas allegedly left ata motorway servicestation. Notanswering his phone.

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Kate ThemenDrums, 1998Now: thinking of a PhD‘When Mark walkedon stage, I shitmyself. You get onwith it’

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Adrian FlanaganGuitar, 1996-97Now: musician‘Like Mark, I’m froma building family.

You getshouted

at’

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Steve EvetsBassist ‘inemergencies’Now: actor‘Being a mate, you can tell him tofuck off’

Anyone missing?If you have been in the Fall and we failed to contact you, emailculture@guardian.co.uk

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Neville WildingGuitar, knuckle-dusters, 1998-2001Now: reportedly inGuadalajara

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