When my book The Fallen - Searching For The Missing Members Of The Fall hit the racks recently I nervously waited for the inevitable eruption from the group’s ever-present, Mark E. Smith. Knowing Smith’s fearsome reputation, I took no chances. I had , the dog’s teeth scientifically sharpened, recruited a team of ex-KGB security advisers and installed a hidden machine gun in the bird box at the bottom of the garden. Such steps duly taken, I took the extra precaution of leaving the country. And then.... silence.
What was this? A fiendish new tactic in psychic warfare? The calm before the storm?
Then a couple of weeks ago I started hearing the same story - that a quietly flattered Mark had taken to reading The Fallen in his local hostelry, chuckling to himself, and upon reaching the end of each chapter about errant guitarists he abandoned in a Swedish forest or suchlike, would tear it out and throwing it on the fire. This act of destruction apparently cheered him so much he celebrated by singing Hendrix covers with a Prestwich blues band (who haven’t, amazingly, found themselves becoming the latest Fall).
Finally, last week came the official eruption and confirmation that this story is at least substantially true.
“I hate that fucking twat,” MES told Liverpool’s Daily Post, referring to this hapless author. “I just burned the fucking thing!”
Pressed by the interviewer, Smith confessed surprise at how “affectionate” the former members had been regarding their former disciplinarian employer. The interviewer then suggested The Fallen may have even made him seem - God forbid - “cuddly.”
Smith seemed apoplectic. Maybe. “That’s why I burned it!” he blasted. In the nicest possible way, of course - before rounding on the ex-members with an almost half-hearted, obligatory “creeps!”
Thus, faced with a relative cessation of hostilities, I have instructed the dog not to bite anyone with a Salford accent and despatched the security team in the direction of hostelries in Prestwich, where they may well find themselves being recruited into the 45th line-up (new Russian dance musick direction) of the mighty Fall. But just in case the prospect of MES being thought of as “cuddly” causes another Smith nuclear explosion, the machine gun in the bird box must remain. Meanwhile, I shall be attending the forthcoming autumn Fall tour dates wearing a mixture of disguises ranging from a crash helmet and a balaclava to a seasonably appropriate costume of a giant bear. Once you start writing about The Fall you really can never be too careful.
Dave Simpson writes on music and the arts for the Guardian newspaper from an isolated base in the North of England. He has been a fan of the Fall since 1979, and once admitted to hating the Beatles.
Related links
