`RESTAURANT FOR DOGS'

Restaurant for Dogs was my first band -not in the sense of the first time I had played music with a group of other people, far from it: I had been in kids bands, prog rock bands, covers Bands, big rockstars' bands, dance bands, 'new wave' bands- but they were always someone else's. It was in RFDs that the soup of inspiration which had been simmering nicely through the squat, Big City life/drug experiment years (steadily picking up new flavours) finally had an outlet. I felt equipped with the pragmatic knowledge gained from watching the successes and cock-ups of all these other units but most of all, it was the boiling dissatisfaction with doing Other Peoples' Things which led me to the formation of this seminal, furiously ambitious, reckless, hopeless, beautiful group.

First let me set the historical scene - we were at that moment in popular music's development when the shitstorm of Punk had ripped apart the safe stodgy world of the 'old farts' (the 'rock bands'* that had the carried the values of the 60's on into an exhausted and flatulent middle-age) and now (79-80) the storm had blown itself out and the ground was cleared to create new hybrids, new noises, new mythologies.

However, as with all such times, the crucial question to be asked is 'what is the baby and what is the bathwater?' Or, to put another way: what is a genuine artistic decision and what is just backlash?

Mmmm

Well I knew what I didn't like, oh boy yes, so did we all: self regarding, self indulgent things (the face of the Flower Child who, betrayed by its' dreams had turned ugly and boring) as evidenced by about a million horrible guitar/bass/drum solos at Swindon College c.1974-7 and, equally, all that 'songwriting' (the activity was kind of repugnant to me -which, as the main songwriter in RFDs was always going to be a bit of a poser at some point). It smacked of Tin Pan Alley, the Beatles, the good craftsmanlike songwriter humbly, boringly Knockin' Out Songs -these (spit it out) 'commodities'- in denial of the politics and uninterested in moving the art-form on at all. It seemed Old Fart-like and I would have none of it.**

'There are no middle 8s in Nature'*** was one of my rallying cries and, to be sure, RFDs was setting out emulate Nature (not the first artistic project with that dubious goal of course). It would be grand, detailed, messy but with an underlying coherence. The Big Heartbeat of Reggae had me in it's thrall and this band -my band- would be groove-driven, homogeneous yet complex like the sea or a forest. Like the desert-nomad's music I used to get from the Museum of Mankind, ours was to be ritualistic, functional, ego-less. EGO-LESS. The Clash's politics, the democratisation of the stage -all of this was very dear to me (bless) I didnt want to see the brutally obvious fact (although Andy Partridge and Dave Marx had pointed it out once or twice) that ego was the one of the big reasons we were all doing this. Stand on stage and make everyone look at you (but not for any kind of self-aggrandisement), try and get famous (but not egotistically) write songs (when you despise the act of songwriting) -and watch how that baby drifts inexorably towards the plughole.

RFDs comes in 2 periods: First -

'4 PIECE BLOKEY BAND' who were:

Dave Marx -old schoolmate - virtuoso Dutch/Polish guitarist in a deeply rockist vein. Notoriously 'difficult' (even at 14) but very gifted and something of a Star. He was waiting to inherit Bruce Springsteen's mantle, and, in the interim, could see no harm in this dalliance with weirdo music. He didn't get to play guitar though -the first of my perverse Restaurant decisions- he was the bass player- and all that energy and ego filtered through the tiny orifice of the simple 4 stringed bass guitar (with it's one sound) was, with hindsight, bound to produce something strange, driven and tubular. And so it proved.

Bruce Mcrae-I put an ad in MM when I left XTC advertising myself as a producer. Bruce -fresh from Canada with a bunch of money to spend on some demos -was the only response. Although I dont think I made a great job of his demos, we became good friends and I duly noted his minimalist, very 'sound' orientated guitar playing (great noises but he never knew what key he was in). A man given to a monastic regime of guitar 'practice', a bizarre diet (green apples, white sugar and instant coffee, raw carrots and processed cheese I observed in his larder at one point) and a sharp and sophisicated wit, yet by no means averse to street brawling -he was my first-call guitarist. Two of his virtues being that he always played sitting down and he never played solos.

Kevin Wilkinson - Kev's old band Stadium Dogs was XTC's main competition in Swindon at the time -they were cooler, had better clothes, got more women and seemed to know where the drugs were. They were, however, breaking up (one of many casualties of this latest Turning of the Cultural Tide) and, since I had decided that rhythm -the Big Heartbeat, the Groove, man - was to be supreme and, since it was obvious that Kev was an exceptional drummer, I tracked him down to his flat in Swindon's tallest building where he seemed to be enthroned as some kind of high rise Pleasure Lord. I vowed to release this font of rhythm from the tyrrany of the song -but I wasn't telling him that yet.

And so it began -you can pick the ingredients carefully but you never know how the stew will go (maybe especially with regard to myself -who, it seemed to some, started to go actuually quite mad)

I wrote some chunky tunes -none of which I was all that pleased with -it just seemed like -you know -more 'songwriting' -the guys played them really well -Kev and Dave meshed pretty quickly into a very tight -albeit incredibly busy- rhythm section. The personal chemistry worked very well (and, indeed, stayed intact for 20 years) but the music -and -yes, the vibe- still wasn't what I had in mind.

There was a lot of dope and speed kicking about around us then and, partially inspired/confused by same, I soon began my new policy of dissolving the boundaries separating performer from audience, 'song' from noise and my lunacy from my common sense. I started to recruit more people and thus began The Second Stage in this strange but true account:

'THE TRIBE'

Carlo Asciutti was the first recruit -a deep, long haired Italian ex medical student and free verse poet -never without a can of Special Brew and a spliff of densest lebanese black- he sang like an angel and a demon (' this one Barry I feenk will be more lyrical -and in Aramaic slang'). The lads were initially suspicious of him but couldn't deny his talent and his earthy manner soon won them over. He was the gate which opened the traditionally watertight blokey 4 piece to the general public -now the Restaurant became a frighteningly 'inclusive' entity -infant school teachers, recent mental patiients, people's girlfriends -it was up for grabs. It got messy, then messier still as I idealistically abandoned my artistic director's role to the vagaries of chance and -well -anarchy, you'd have to say. Ian Reid (XTC's ex-Sandhurst manager) lectured me on leadership -horrified by the racket this motley but well intentioned crew produced. Record companies started out interested then fled in terror. We were asked to record our version of Le Freak by Chic for Warners but, with characteristic perversity, the witty and succinct demo was transformed into a formless hooligan bash-athon (corrugated iron hit with many hammers -Carlo intoning, me mumbling) and our A&p;R guy -actually quite reasonably (though I didn't think so at the time)- got cold feet.

Captain Ahab-like I was relentless in my pusuit of a democratic rhythmic/artistic collective which would produce the ego-less _expression of brute nature I desired. Well, it was a good idea but I had no idea how to make it happen. Dave Marx had been the voice of reactionary,'no-nonsense' Rockist Wisdom on many occasions and after one clash too many, he resigned. Sara Lee -from the League of Gentlemen- replaced him and it was immediately obvious that Dave's style of playing, entertaining though it had been, was at the expense of a coherent musical whole. With Sara's sparse, economical style there was suddenly room to breathe and, ironically- since RFD's were on our last gasp- possibilities started opening up. We recorded 'Human Animal' which was as close as we ever got to my vision of the group. Maybe it wasn't so barmy after all. Right then, however. Dave Allen arrived offering to take all the organisation off my back- and by then I was more than ready to let someone- the deal was though that he had to be a founder member of the new band and he had his own crew waiting in the wings (Brian, Linda, Emma, Carl..)

I tried once to bring him into the fold but he was having none of it -I would have to join his band. Shame, really. So I started again with new people but this time I was going to try benign dictatorship as the model and songwriting, suitably chastened, whimpering slightly, was grudgingly allowed to come indoors (only as far as the kitchen though, for now).

notes

*there was a time when that was actually an insult, honest: eg: 'that lot's just a fucking rock band' (ie not punks).

** the notion that Western Songwriting was crap deserves a whole thesis -it was a far from isolated opinion at this time and I think you could put it down to

1: a mixture of Punk's suspicion of anything that harked back to that grotesque parade of musical skill unmediated by taste which blighted mid 70s Old Fart music.

2: Brian Eno (yeah him again) and his idea of the 'non-musician': someone to whom ideas were the crucial thing and technique was unimportant (same as the Punks in a way though they sure didn't like each other much), and

3: the increasing awareness of non-Western forms -the Burundi drummers, Fela Kuti, dub Reggae -none of them did 3 minute love songs, all of them spoke of political resistance and -let's not forget -not only did we suddenly all want to be black but just because Punk's self loathing fest was over didn't mean we could stop hating ourselves (luckily along came Goth..).

***on reflection, though, I think there are all sorts of middle 8s in nature and, even more relevantly, we are nature too and we made up middle 8s (and kisses and trains and roses and vaccine). Young people see things too black and white.