Читать книгу Rise of The Super Furry Animals - - Страница 13

BORN – Bangor, 1969

CHILDHOOD SUPERPOWER – Flying, swimming

CHILDHOOD SUPERWEAKNESS – Not being able to fly or swim

CLASSROOM DISASTER – ‘Sneaking off to school at five years old in my paisley pyjamas, ’cos I thought I looked like Gary Glitter’

CHILDHOOD VICTORY – ‘Realising that a man-made, invisible, supernatural, totalitarian being, that demanded to be praised lest it condemn you to eternal torture in hell, was a bag of shite’

TEEN REBEL ICON – Ffred Ffrancis, Welsh Language Activist

TEEN GROOMING TIP – Tooth brushing

GEEKY PASSION: Pigs (‘I wanted to breed them and make money’)

FIRST SONGWRITING ATTEMPT – ‘Llanaelhaearn Lleddf (Blues)’,1979

BEACH BOYS VALHALLA – ‘Till I Die’

LIFE WISDOM: ‘Don’t be a cunt’ – Jim Jeffries

As the eighties gave way to the nineties, Ffa Coffi Pawb’s songwriting continued to blossom: Rhodri was inspired by the early work of Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses, while Gruff and Daf began thinking about the craft of pop music, reasoning that every great tune should kick off with a memorable hook.

Gorwel remembers a philosophy that they adopted at this time: ‘I recall them saying that “the studio is just a vehicle for the songs”. That’s very true, of course, but they also understood that the opposite was true: that songs can be vehicles for experimenting.’

The experimenting was paying off too: for one matter, Gruff finally resolved the dilemma of which way round to play the guitar. Trained left-handed, but in possession of only a right, he simply flipped the guitar upside-down.

As 1991 dawned, the runway for Ffa Coffi Pawb was clear for take-off. Not only had they settled on a ‘fab four’ line-up and started writing great songs, but they had an occasional harmonica player too: the Wildest Man in North Wales. From the beginning, Rhys Ifans had a strong belief that he was going to be a professional actor; but of all the musicians he dabbled with, he was undoubtedly the most rock ’n’ roll.

One winter’s afternoon, the band had just finished soundchecking at a small club in Porthmadog when Rhys and Rhodri went outside to see what the crowds were like.

‘Crikey,’ said Rhodri. ‘The only thing missing is tumbleweed. I guess we’ll be playing to the sound engineer again.’

‘There, there, Rhodri,’ said Rhys, slurping a cocktail with a twinkle in his eye. ‘It just so happens that I know precisely where to get a massive crowd from. You go back inside and set up with the band, and I’ll be back in five minutes with an audience.’

‘Five minutes?’

‘Five minutes,’ winked Rhys.

He jogged down the street to a crossroads, then stopped and looked around, smelling the wind for signs of life. Suddenly a cheer resonated from a bar called The Headless Ram. Rhys swung through the door and coughed loudly.

‘Good afternoon, ladies!’ he said, silencing a roomful of leather-bound men. He cleared his throat and started again.

‘Word has it … that there is a rather good biker rock band playing just round the corner at the club tonight. The best biker band in North Wales, in fact!’

The bikers stared at him. One of them folded his arms.

‘And apparently it’s free beer too. I’ll be going now.’ He grinned and slowly began to crab-walk out again.

That night, Ffa Coffi Pawb performed their pop music to a gang of confused, hairy men. As the final notes rang out to reveal an eerie silence, it became apparent that some sort of reconciliatory gesture was required. Rhys stepped up to the microphone. ‘Would anybody like to buy a tape?’