I Was A Teenage Toyah Fan

by Chris Limb

  Maybe it was because we were all drunk, but the final performance seemed like the best of the run. Outside afterwards Puddle Dock was crowded with fans from all around the country, a street party to end all street parties, which continued long after Toyah had left at 2am. Larger numbers than ever sprawled on the pavements and walkways of Blackfriars that night. We all sat around drinking out of cans and eventually I lay back and closed my eyes, concrete under my head, and drifted off.

  “Come on, you can’t sleep here!”

  I blinked in confusion. We were being roused and moved on by a couple of suspicious looking City police constables. I was quite shocked at what I considered their unreasonable behaviour and mumbled under my breath something about it being a “free country”.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” said Lunar as he packed up his gear and we all joined the slow exodus from the City of London escorted by the Plod Twins. They only turned back when we crossed the border into Westminster and left their jurisdiction.

  A chapter had ended but the events therein had completely changed the shape of the book. The future looked bright.

  7: Colliding out of control

  “There was a group of kids who started to call themselves the Angels and Demons who'd wait outside the stage door every night from me arriving at about five to me leaving at about eleven. Every night for five months. They'd wait at the door, getting pissed as newts. They'd nick tables from local restaurants and have street parties. No end of phone calls from the police complaining about them. They now have reunions every two weeks at the pub across the road. I got very inspired by them. Most of 'Love is the Law' was provoked by them.”

  Toyah interview by Mick Mercer in Zig Zag, February 1984

  I went off to university. It was quite odd really. There I was having just made a load of new friends in the Angels and Demons (we’d already started having our reunions at various central London pubs every weekend after Tanzi had finished) and all of a sudden I had to leave all that behind and begin a new life as a student in Brighton.

  Or perhaps not. London and Brighton were only 49 minutes apart by train (strangely this journey time has gone up to 53 minutes in the intervening years) and with a Young Person’s Railcard a ticket was only £2.90 return.

  Going to university was a fascinating experience and a million miles away from my last experience of the academic life at school. In fact it was a revelation. My fellow students were now more far interested in my opinions, in what made me tick and in what I had to say than they were in making my life a living hell. Also there were girls there. It took some getting used to, but I felt I could live with it. And I no longer had to address anyone as “sir”.

  But it had been my gap year spent with Toyah and the Angels and Demons that had hammered the first nails into the coffin of my schooldays and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the gap yet.

  Toyah had been a bit less accessible than we had been used to throughout the autumn. For a start she’d spent a few weeks in France filming The Ebony Tower. However, once she was back in late September, Hayley, me and a couple of others had made the journey up to BBC Oxford Road in Manchester to see her record a TV pop show with Mark Curry.

  Whilst Toyah was recording her interview we sat in the BBC Oxford Road foyer with Toyah’s manager/PA Kate and Tom watching Top of the Pops. We felt oddly grown up. Tom seemed really into the video of Genesis’s Mama (the song where Phil Collins sounds like he’s being sick), whereas Kate seemed to enjoy UB40’s Red Red Wine more and knelt up in her chair dancing...

  Afterwards Toyah came out and we had a short chat for ten minutes or so. She was enthusiastic about the video for her new single Rebel Run, which she was about to shoot and for which she’d had roller-skating lessons earlier in the summer shortly after a dream that had inspired the scenario and about which she had told us at the time back in the summer.

  Then she was off and we trudged back to the coach station for the trip back down to London. In retrospect – and in fact probably to a lot of people at the time – it seems like an absurd idea to travel all that way to spend less than a quarter of an hour talking to someone, but at the time it all made perfect sense to us. For want of a better word we had become addicted to being in the presence of this woman.

  There is an old Asian proverb that declares that woman is by nature a shaman. Perhaps spending all that time together over the summer had activated some primal instinctive behaviour in all of us - we had unintentionally coalesced into an ersatz tribe and identified Toyah as our shaman. Back then we would probably have done anything she told us to. The fact that this was not a position she had aspired to didn’t occur to us.

  After our trip to Manchester, October and November felt like bleak Toyahless months, although she did write back to me at university (once with the cryptic legend Vril power! written on the back of the envelope). Meanwhile the Angels and Demons’ reunions continued uninterrupted. Perhaps I was sabotaging the initial impression people at university were getting of me by disappearing up to London every Saturday evening, but to be honest they probably thought I was odd enough as it was. I had signed up with the student radio station, Radio Falmer, straight away and presented a Friday evening show Out on a Limb from 8 until 10pm every week (a slot I would maintain for the next three years until leaving) where at first I got the reputation as “the guy that played Toyah and Soft Cell all the time”. One perk of being involved with Radio Falmer was that some record companies sent in promotional copies of singles and LPs to the station, sometimes a week or so in advance of the official release date. Safari were one of these companies and so it was in this way that I got to hear the new Toyah album Love is the Law a little in advance.

  Some of it I was already vaguely familiar with, having overheard it when we’d all camped outside the Marquee recording studio, and other tracks were fresh. It didn’t affect me as intensely as Anthem or The Changeling had but I was in a different position now and felt more part of the Toyah world. In the Angels and Demons I had friends who were into the same things as me and so had lost the experience of the solitary individual listening to the music alone and interpreting it as speaking to him on a level that nothing else did. Whilst this did mean that perhaps the music didn’t have as powerful an effect, it was probably far healthier for me as an individual in the long run.

  There was a tour coming up to support the new album. Toyah reappeared with her hair black (which was in fact her natural colour) with purple highlights. This darker look felt suited to the winter into which we were now heading. She paid a repeat visit to Russell Harty’s chat show towards the year’s end; this time with all of us in the front row.

  The interview was fun, our reactions to Toyah’s jokes clearly audible on the broadcast show. She did keep glancing at us throughout; in retrospect it’s obvious that she was likely thinking something along the lines of oh god please behave yourselves and don’t embarrass me.

  She finished up by performing her new single The Vow – this was the first time that a second single had been released from from one of her albums after that album’s release and felt like a bit of a cheat – especially as the b-side was another album track. However, Toyah’s contract with Safari was up and this was perhaps their way of making the most of their star turn whilst they still had access to her.

  After the show Harty gestured at us and quipped to the rest of the audience “You wouldn’t think Toyah would be old enough to have so many children!”

  And then the tour was upon us. I planned to go to eight out of the nineteen gigs, perhaps not as impressive as it could have been but not a bad start. Newly empowered by the Midland Bank account I’d opened as an undergraduate student, I’d sent off cheques and stamped addressed envelopes to a variety of venues across the UK, and once they arrived back proudly pinned them to a map of the UK I’d fastened to my bedroom wall.

  Now I just had to work out how I was going to get to them. As for what to do after the gigs, well I decided I’d make it up as I went
along. Something would turn up.

  The first one I had a ticket for was easy, I thought. Margate. That was in Kent. I was in Sussex. Shouldn’t be that difficult to get to, I imagined. I decided to go by train and not via London.

  This turned out to be a mistake. The journey ended up taking all afternoon and I had to change at least three times. Still I’d left in plenty of time and even though it was already dark by the time I rolled up at the Winter Gardens, everyone was still outside. One or two of us had already braved the wilds of Loughborough, Blackburn, Halifax and other far flung destinations but for the bulk this was where the tour began. It felt good to see each other again – despite the reunions this was probably the largest gathering of us some time - and we chattered excitedly to each other as we huddled in the queue drinking lager out of ice cold cans.

  As soon as the doors opened we made a beeline for the front, the best standing room in the house. However, by the time the support group - Jonathan Perkins’ Silver Spurs who counted amongst their members Toyah’s erstwhile bass player Phil Spalding and keyboardist Keith Hale (writer of It’s a Mystery) - had been and gone I was dying for a piss. I wondered if it was possible to set my kidneys working in reverse. Perhaps not. In the end I don’t know how I managed it but somehow struggled through the crowd to the toilets and back to my spot in the middle, elbows on the stage.

  For the first time I was aware of Toyah had employed the services of a backing singer, Miriam. For some reason this didn’t sit right with me, although to be honest even from where I was standing it was difficult to hear her. Besides, any misgivings I might have had about this new line up were dispelled by the quality of the show itself.

  As diehard fans we had started to develop our own folklore and received wisdom around Toyah’s songs; the “old material” (in other words anything pre-It’s a Mystery) was held in particularly high esteem. This was partly because it was more raw and alternative but largely I suspect because the average Top of the Pops watching casual fan didn’t know about it. Imagine our delight though when the new set started with Elusive Stranger and Our Movie, two tracks from Sheep Farming in Barnet. Tracks unheard live for years! It was just like the old days, we all thought (despite all of us being too young to have been going to gigs in the “old days”). It was almost too good to be true.

  After the show, one of the others introduced some of us to a girl who had a car and who lived in her own flat in Sittingbourne; she ended up giving a handful of us a lift back there and we all sat up for hours before all eventually passing out on cushions on the floor. It only occurred to me the following morning waking up in a daze in her living room that she and our friend had designs on each other, a fact confirmed by the fact that when me and the others left for the station, he remained behind.

  Hammersmith Odeon again. Thankfully we’d all managed to get tickets in the front couple of rows so didn’t have to worry to much about attracting the attentions of the feral bouncers. Fuelled by pre-gig excitement, our rowdiness did attract the attention of a lone police officer outside who told us to keep it down and seemed most affronted when we didn’t even look at him. He repeated his order, this time shouting it. We looked at him, nodding and grinning. Perhaps our infectious enthusiasm and happiness prevented him from pursuing it any further.

  Guildford Civic Hall. It was at the latter that we spotted someone wandering around with “Angels and Demons” written on the back of their jacket. Someone we didn’t know. Someone who had obviously seen Toyah mention us in an interview and was chancing their arm.

  Eddie immediately started joking how it was weird that we didn’t remember our old friend what’s-their-name. Lee however went over to them, asked a few questions, explained the situation and told them to take the jacket off.

  They complied, oddly. In the cold light of adulthood this whole thing sounds ridiculous, but back then we were incensed that someone was pretending to be one of us; them disrobing on a cold December evening once they’d had the facts pointed out to them seemed only right and proper. Still, they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Other little gangs started to spring up, all named after Toyah songs. The Urban Tribesmen. The Warboys. The Elusive Strangers (nothing to do with the Elusive Stranger who’d interviewed Toyah back in the summer).

  This was also the gig at which Eddie met Lynn Hay from Scotland whom I remembered from the last day at Tanzi – I think he offered her a place to stay in London after the gig - Bounds Green was much easier to get back to than Kirkcaldy. Luckily for me Brighton was also fairly easy to get back to.

  The next couple of gigs were in Middlesbrough and Newcastle. This was a bit far away for me (nearly Scotland!) and spending that much time away from my studies might not have been such a good idea. Still, I’d made plans to attend all the dates after that, something I was really looking forward to. I caught the National Express coach up to Liverpool and met up with Lunar outside the Royal Court. I was there early enough to see Toyah when she arrived as well. She said we could leave our rucksacks in the coach’s luggage compartments to save us lugging them into the venue.

  The gig started well – despite the coldness of the venue – but was spoilt by a brace of belligerent Scouse lads who spent the first half of the show gobbing at Toyah. Eventually she lost her temper but rather than storming off she channelled her anger into a very aggressive (and impressive) version of Angel & Me singing the bellicose lyrics directly into the faces of the spitting boys. They responded by chanting You’re shit! You’re shit! at her between songs.

  Tom suddenly popped up from behind the barrier like a jack-in-the-box and grabbed the lead shitty-gobster by the lapels.

  “Who’s shit?” he asked quietly. The shitty-gobster brothers were persuaded to vacate their position at the front of the stage and moved back. I could still hear them whining at each other for several minutes.

  “Ah’m just gonna twat a few ‘eads.”

  A few seconds later I felt an unbelievably hard clout on the top of my head. I’d been twatted. Luckily I have a very hard skull, so I turned round to see where the blow had originated (as if I didn’t know). There, about three bodies or so away through the crush was one of the shitty-gobsters staring at me with a ridiculously clichéd Yeah? You startin’? Come and ‘ave a go then! stance complete with weasel sneer and spindly finger gestures. It didn’t make sense. He’d hit me. Why was he acting as if I’d started it?

  Fortunately it was very difficult to move in the crowd. I ignored him and turned back to face the stage. I was far more interested in watching the gig. Twat! I received a second blow, even harder than the first one, which almost made me dizzy. The Twatting Git was still aggressively gurning at me through the throng, but behind him I could see that Lunar had witnessed the twattings and was sliding though the horde. Within a couple of songs ended up directly behind the twatter and leaned his elbows on the idiot’s shoulders. When he was sure the guy had seen him he pointedly looked over at me with an Is this the guy? expression. I responded with a silent Yes.

  Lunar was very tall. He still is. As soon as they saw who was looming over them, both troublemakers disappeared into the crowd although I could still hear their strident tones as they retreated and got involved in altercations with other members of the audience.

  The damage had been done though and the whole gig was suffused in bad vibe. Toyah had enough and departed without playing an encore. Outside afterwards Lunar and I were alarmed to discover that the coach had already driven off. With our rucksacks. Which contained our sleeping bags.

  Luckily a friendly local fan Chris Wilkinson, whom we knew through the fan club and had been chatting to inside, said we could crash on his floor. We were grateful for a roof over our heads - but good grief it was cold without our sleeping-bags!

  The next day we set off for Manchester, again via coach. I was wondering how we were going to find Toyah and the band - the Manchester Apollo gig was the following night so all we could do was hope that we’d be able to track them down
. As it happened it was far easier than we thought. Manchester Coach Station was in the city centre, slap bang next door to the ornate Britannia Hotel and as we walked out into Portland Street whom should we spot but Joel Bogen, Toyah’s guitarist and long time song writing partner.

  Apparently Toyah was off doing an interview with Piccadilly Radio. We explained our predicament and Joel told us that the driver had gone off and parked the coach somewhere and that we should hang around here until he got back. As we chatted we noticed a couple of girls hanging around outside the main entrance, their badges and scarves indicating that they were waiting for Paul Young who was also in town that day. Shortly after that Mr Young himself turned up; Lunar and I were shocked by the way he completely ignored his fans and just swept past them into the hotel, obviously in a bit of hurry to lay his hat somewhere. Toyah would never have done anything like that!

  As if to emphasise the difference between our idol and this newcomer, Joel suggested we come and wait inside and took us upstairs to the landing. At one point Tom emerged from a lift and from the expression on his face looked as if he was about to explode; luckily Joel was still on hand to explain that we were just waiting for the driver.

  We eventually retrieved our rucksacks from the coach in a car park behind Manchester Piccadilly station and spent the night in a quiet corner of the coach station, strangely comforted by the thought that Toyah was in the building next door. The following night after the gig we slept here again, having failed to locate any friendly locals upon whom we could prevail for some floor space. And then it was off to Sheffield. I was starting to feel a bit spaced out by this point due to lack of sleep and the coach ride across the moors was a delirious semi-conscious journey.