EVERYBODY’S IN SHOW-BIZ: RAY DAVIES and MARK HAMILL IN CONVERSATION at HORNSEY TOWN HALL ARTS CENTRE

A long time ago, in a small terraced house not very far away, Ray Davies and his brother Dave began their journey in to the galaxy of rock and roll. Hornsey Town Hall is situated a mile and a half from the then Davies family home in Muswell Hill and played host to one of their earliest performances, pre-Kinks, when the group would be named after whoever secured the gig. In this instance, in 1963, either the Ray Davies Quartet or the Pete Quaife Quartet despite the line-up consisting of three schoolboys with a loose grip of mathematics.

The venue - that regularly held dances with big bands, or "Palais" bands, before the Davies generation ousted them with beat groups - has held sway over Ray ever since, illustrated in a 2010 interview when Ray met Alan Yentob in the derelict building to introduce Julian Temple’s Imaginary Man for the BBC. “There’s something in the walls”, he explained, “I’d love to play here. You have a vision of where you want to be and where you want your work to be presented and this place, probably subconsciously, has been my ideal since I first came here”.

With that in mind, and to raise funds for the preservation of the space and for the homeless charity Crisis, last night witnessed a very special, unique evening billed as Ray Davies and Mark Hamill in conversation with musical accompaniment.

The actor famous for playing Luke Skywalker might seem an unlikely host but he recently evidenced his deep knowledge of the Kinks in a couple of interviews for The Big Issue, one with Ray and one with Dave. As he explained, when offered the chance to interview anyone he liked for the magazine, “I said the Kinks, obviously”. Mark read passages from Ray's Americana book, led the conversation, and generally acted like the super-excited “fanboy” he happily confessed to being.

When Ray entered the stage Mark bowed at his feet, wanted the chewing gum Ray disposed of, and called him a “genial genius”. Ray being Ray, looked slightly awkward and uncomfortable at such adulation but Mark proved the perfect choice (personally asked by Ray) with his effervescent personality offsetting Ray’s taciturn nature as they chewed the fat about America, cowboys, movies and music. The event also served to promote two new “Legacy editions” – with loads of extras - of Kinks albums Muswell Hillbillies (1971) and Everybody’s In Show-Biz (1972) and the conversation was geared around that era which made a welcome change from the usual 60s focus us Brits can’t shake of the Kinks, whereas Mark brought, naturally, a different, more encompassing overview of a band which, in his experience, didn’t really begin in earnest until their US ban was lifted at the end of the decade.

After discussion about Muswell Hillbillies came the first musical interlude when Ray was joined by his regular tour guitarist Bill Shanley to play ‘20^th Century Man’ and ‘Oklahoma USA’ from that album. ‘Oklahoma USA’, written with his sister Rosie in mind, was beautifully played and sung. Hornsey Town Hall may have seen better days but the acoustics have remained and this sounded especially moving. After more chat came a brooding ‘I’m Not Like Everybody Else’ and a bouncing ‘Muswell Hilbilly’ before a break.

The second half followed the same format but with more emphasis on Everybody’s In Show-Biz. Mark revealed he drove Harrison Ford mad during the making of the original Star Wars when they, Sir Alex Guinness and a six-foot man in a dog outfit, spent hours confined to the controls of the Millennium Falcon with young Luke singing ‘Supersonic Rocket Ship’ lyrics “too many people, side by side, got no place to hide” over and over. Discussion around ‘Celluloid Heroes’ had Mark gushing over how Ray stirred so many different emotions during the course of just one song. “Well,” said Ray, “it is quite a long song”. Ray explained how often, as in the case of ‘Celluloid Heroes’, the music was recorded before the rest of group heard any lyrics. This was partly “because they’re blokes” and also Mick Avory poured scorn on anything he considered too “airy-fairy”.

Songs in this half were, appropriately enough, at the beginning ‘This Is Where I Belong’, ‘Dedicated Follower of Fashion’ and ‘Where Have All The Good Times Gone?’ and to conclude a wonderful ‘Celluloid Heroes’ and a jaunty ‘Sunny Afternoon’. Mark again proved an entertaining counterfoil to Ray. When Ray admitted he could sometimes appear a curmudgeon, Mark lost no time in responding with “Nooooo, you?” and a cheeky look to imaginary camera.

A few audience questions ended the evening with Ray being non-specific about the meaning of ‘Days’ but claiming he wrote it in a telephone box.

The whole evening was a joy. Mark Hamill was a warm, inspired host but the night belonged to Ray Davies, noticeably more relaxed singing and "doing a turn” than talking, and his timeless songs played in such an effective manner and heard in the most perfect environment.

THE FUTURE IS HERE TO STAY: THE DAVE DAVIES INTERVIEW

The first thing Dave Davies says when we meet around the corner from the Muswell Hill street he grew up in is “I like your jacket”. I tell him it could be one of his old cast-offs. “Maybe it is,” he adds, proudly showing off his new Ben Sherman suit before talk turns to different types of rounded shirt collar. As an introduction to one of the most naturally stylish musicians of the 60s it’s near perfect.

Now, fifty years from the first Kinks records and the unleashing of his incredible guitar sound that took “You Really Got Me” to number one, thirteen years since his last London show, and ten since suffering a major stroke, Dave is back to play the Barbican in London this Friday.

Fifty years in the music business, are you looking forward to celebrating it on Friday?

Oh yeah. We’ve done shows in the States and the audiences have been great so when an opening came up at the Barbican and I thought it would be the perfect gig. Well, it could be, might be the worse one. People become really obsessive about these anniversaries. I said to Ray we should do something for our 51^st anniversary. We’re talking about doing some things, we not sure yet. He’s always busy, I’m always busy. We get together for a pint now and again and talk about football. I think we’re getting closer to it but we’re getting older.

On your recent album, I Will Be Me, there’s a song “Little Green Amp” that describes you as a kid at home, practicing your guitar, slashing your amp to create the sound you’d soon be identified with, the neighbours banging on the wall and you full of rage. What was the root of that rage?

I think primarily it was my childhood sweetheart, Sue. I fell in love at 14. These days it’s quite normal but in those days it was frowned upon. Sue got pregnant and they put her in what they called an Unmarried Mother’s Home to have the baby. It was devastating. My mum and her mum conspired to keep us apart. I didn’t find out until 1992.

Why did they do that?

[Twists finger to his temple] Her mum was already crabby and her daughter was an only child. The thought of her being pregnant and having a child out of wedlock and all that bollocks was too much. My mum I think she saw music as a way out for me, being a boisterous sort of kid. I hated school. I hated that talking-down mentality, that condescending attitude. She thought she was being smart, but smart for whom? On “Little Green Amp” I tried to reflect on how I felt at the time. The rage I had, the anger, but tried to keep it funny. The ultimate knife, dig, is the fact that me and Sue went to Selfridges and I bought her an engagement ring for a fiver. The look of horror and disappointment on my mum’s face. It took me quite a few years to come to terms with it. Who has the right to tell you what age you can fall in love? It’s not a science. I think that made me a bit disrespectful to women later on going out on the road with different girls and that.

The power of those early riffs was quite extraordinary. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t come up with that noise for “You Really Got Me” and “All Day And All Of The Night” that no one had really done before? After your first two singles weren’t hits, suddenly you were huge stars sitting at number one.

I think great things happen by accident. You can over-think things. I was talking to someone the other day about the guitar riff and people forget it wasn’t just about the guitar sound or the records, it was about the music, the fashion, the attitude, it’s all a package. That whole period was very unusual. That thing about working class people doing something, expressing themselves. Whereas before it was rare for working class people to get the limelight or to get important jobs.

Do you think that being working class influenced your music?

Of course it did. When I listened to a lot of the early blues players you could sense the oppression in what they were doing. Although it was a totally different culture you could relate to the emotions. My uncle worked at King’s Cross on the railways, we didn’t get much money, and all these feeling about having to try hard to keep a family together, these feelings and emotions were the same.

Once you’d made it, you lived the 60s pop star lifestyle to the hilt didn’t you?

Just about. It was amazing. Fresh out of school, cocky as hell, eying up all the chicks, you know. It was wonderful. Parties, people I met in the art world, the intelligentsia of London, I loved it.

And music gave you that. Without music you’d never have had access to that world.

I think my mum knew that. As a way of getting us out there, of doing something more relevant. I think music saved me from a lot of things. Crime maybe, who knows? That’s why it’s very important for young people to have an artistic interest. We use the mind differently; thoughtful and more considered.

One of the things that comes across with your work with The Kinks is it’s not one over-studied playing style, it’s inventive, from “All Day and All Of The Night” to the “See My Friends” to “Waterloo Sunset” to “Victoria”, it’s always different styles.

It comes from a background where there was so much music. My six sisters loved music, my Dad played the banjo, my oldest sister Dolly would listen to Fats Domino, Doris Day. They were all songs. When we got working in the studio we started to realise the importance of structure and where the guitar went, it’s not just all the way through. Songs need something to embellish it, not to get in its way. It was an interesting learning curve the first couple of albums. Also, because Ray being the main songwriter, with things like “Dedicated Follower Of Fashion”, where he really began to develop as a writer – or as I like to say, as an observationalist - we realised certain sounds fit with lyrics or a line or melody. It gives it a different aspect rather than just playing a few riffs and going to the pub, although we did that as well.

Ray would come with the main idea of the song. How did the rest of the band add their contributions?

In that early time, in something like “Sunny Afternoon”, Ray would have the seed idea – the riff – and I’d always loved songs and riffs that go down – those descending chords - and then up. That’s why “Dead End Street” has always been one of my favourites. I suggested to Ray to have a counter-riff on “Sunny Afternoon”, making it stranger. I was always interested in the unusual. On “See My Friends” I think it was before they even had sitar music in local Indian restaurants. That was really a great thing to realise about the recording studio was if you had a sound in your head you could try to recreate it by detuning and exploring tones. You can change a whole mood of a song just by tuning it differently or even by using a cheap instrument. It might sound tinny but it might fit the style of the song. Whilst everyone else out there was buying up the whole London contingent of sitars, we were doing it on a cheap Framus guitar. I liked experimenting with music.

And you liked experimenting with fashion too.

It’s very important. Me and Pete Quaife would meet for lunch when he worked as a graphic artist for The Outfitter and I worked at Selmer for a bit and we’d meet up and go to Berwick Street and down Carnaby Street – although it wasn’t really Carnaby Street then, just a few men’s tailors, a few women’s shops – and we had a thing where we’d buy anything. A silly hat, something like that, and if the older generation didn’t like it, and turned their noses up, we thought that was good. 

I love that orange, red and purple felt hat you had. Do you remember it?

It was a cloth floppy hat I could turn inside out and wear all day. Yeah, it folded up. I got it from a ladies hat shop at the back of Carnaby Street, Kingly Street.  It was like a tea cosy I could put on my mum’s teapot. I was down Carnaby Street the other day having a look around. The Shakespeare’s Head is still there, that’s where I met my lifetime long friend, a guy called Mike Quinn. He worked in one of the first John Stephen shops and we got pally. I’d go in his shop to see what he had and he’d go “Dave, I’ve got this jacket. Take it out” and I’d sneak it out the shop. So I had an eye for fashion, as did Pete who was into the same stuff.

Where Did You Get That Hat? The Kinks: Dave Davies, Ray Davies, Pete Quaife, Mick Avory

 Did you feel any affinity to the Mod movement at the time?

I did but I didn’t embrace it as much as Pete Quaife did. He had his Vespa and his parka and was really into it, he was the original Modfather. I liked the more elegant type things. I had a girlfriend who had centre parted hair with the bouffant at the back and I’d copy that. Men’s fashions were so boring. Pete was the purest Mod in the band but I liked elements of both Mods and Rockers. I liked the pill taking of the Mods. I think The Kinks were maybe the first Mod band but The Who were the first Mod band that looked like it. The Small Faces were a real Mod band and The Action were absolutely great. Pete was into the Motown influences and making us do wretched versions of “Dancing In The Street”. We did a tour with the Earl Van Dyke band, and Earl taught Pete the bass parts he used to play on the keyboard in some of his songs. That’s where the idea for “Everybody’s Gonna Be Happy” came from. If you listen to the bass parts, those chromatic things, they came from Earl Van Dyke. 

After the first few Kinks hits The Who came out with “I Can’t Explain” which was very much in your style. What did you think when you first heard it?

As The High Numbers they opened for us a few times in Shepherd’s Bush and in South London so they’d had the chance to really suss us out. I remember the first time I saw them I thought “cheeky little buggers!” They were an extraordinary band. When everyone was copying the Kinks for ideas it was only really Pete Townshend that owned up to the fact we were an influence. It seemed to me when people don’t know what to do they dig out an old Kinks song, we do it. And David Bowie, he’s not exactly a closet Kinks fan but we were mates when he was Davy Jones in The Manish Boys, so he’s a secret fan. The Manish Boys were obviously lesser known so when I couldn’t really go out of hotels because of the screaming girls I’d get David to bring a couple of girls up for me.

I hadn’t realised “David Watts” was a real person. Can you tell us about him?

We did a gig, ’64-’65, in Rutland run by this David Watts, a retired Major in the Army. He was all dressed in his tweeds. “Jolly good show boys, why don’t you come back to the house afterwards and we’ll have a little drink”. So we go back but the dead giveaway was when he sat down and he was wearing pink socks. You have to realise homosexuality was still illegal right up until 1966. I was amazed when we first got into show business how many gay people there were. But they were always the funniest and the most creative. Anyway, this party progressed, we were getting a bit pissed, and David owned this land, lovely Georgian Manor, and Ray was going to sell me, to pimp me off, to this David Watts in exchange for this house. Cheeky cunt.

Were you tempted?

No, I tried. I did try [with men] but I loved women too much. David took me upstairs and he had this training bicycle. “Why don’t you try it?” So I’m cycling away and he’s being all flirtatious. We had a great time making “David Watts”. I often wonder about when The Jam did it. Paul Weller being quite a serious guy I wonder if he knew the full backstory to that song. I used to take my son Martin to see The Jam at the Marquee and the Rainbow. When I was making my album ALF1-3603 in 1979 there was a knock on the studio door and Paul Weller walked in, very quiet, and under his jacket he had a 45 of “Susannah’s Still Alive” which he shyly asked me to sign it for him. Really sweet.

Do you think all the reports of fighting within The Kinks – not just you and Ray but you and Mick Avory - has been over-played?

It’s definitely been over-played. Of course there was fighting, and we had difficult times when me and Mick were bumping heads, but we’d get sick of working that close all the time, in each other’s pockets. In the end you have to say “Why don’t you just fuck off? Get out my face.” But Mick became like an older brother, and Pete. But Pete was a fun guy and just couldn’t stand it when the business when all dour, so he thought fuck this and left. We were really good friends and he was a really good musician. Apart from mine and Ray’s many differences with music and ideas, the sense of humour we had, you learn like only siblings do. I think the humour really showed through a lot of The Kinks music. Even “Waterloo Sunset” is quite amusing. The guy in the song could be a dirty old man in a mac. “I don’t need no friends.” Not to put it down, as it’s an epic piece of observational writing, but we always had that other side to The Kinks. All that camp thing. Me and Pete loved it, camping it up, pouting. Even Mick Avory who was very macho in his expression would try it, even though it didn’t really come off on him. There was always humour.

Ray was under a lot of pressure to come up with the songs. Did you think if he didn’t come up with a hit record all this would disappear?

No I didn’t. I don’t know why but I had this automatic optimism. I think that was because I was working with family. Our immediate family were big supporters of what we were doing. When you dry up, or think you have, all it might take is a visit to the pub and play shove h’penny with your Dad or your mates and it would give you ideas. When you think back to Kinks music, so much of it was drawn from family, friends, surroundings, who we were, holidays as kids, everything.

Do you think The Kinks were quite nostalgic looking?

No, I think we were quite forward thinking. There’s this character on I Will Be Me – partly me, partly someone else – on a song called “Living In The Past” about this longing for nostalgia. We all do it as somehow we think the past is better than the present. Is that to do with loneliness? I think for a lot of people always looking back at the past is a sign of being fearful for the future. We need to embrace the future a lot more, especially older people. There’s a line in the song that I really like “No matter what they do or say, the future’s here to stay”. So that was my advice to the guy in the song.

Dave Davies plays the Barbican this Friday 11^th April 2014, info and tickets available from davedavies.com

Huge thanks to Dave for being so generous with his time and to David Walker for asking me to conduct the interview on behalf of Modculture, where it first appeared yesterday. Thanks also to Paula Baker for helping conduct the interview and for the photo below. 

MARK NEVIN - "I KNOW WHERE RAY DAVIES LIVES" (2011)

Still in a Ray Davies mood following his Hyde Park gig on Friday, I welcomed Monkey Picks reader Paul Welden notifying me about this song.

Mark Nevin was in Fairground Attraction but I won't hold that against him as this is a nice little video tribute to his North London neighbour Mr. Davies. As Paul says, echoing Otis Lee Crenshaw, "There's a thin line between stalking and selective walking."

RAY DAVIES in HYDE PARK

A sunny summer evening in Hyde Park watching Ray Davies play a free gig and treat thousands of Londoners to 90 minutes of The Kinks’ greatest hits. As Friday nights go, it takes some beating.

I wouldn’t wish appendicitis on anyone, not even Elton John, but that was the circumstance which forced Sir Elton to cancel his headline appearance here and turned this gig into a massive free event with tickets available on a first-come basis.

Elvis Costello did an enjoyable turn playing a hit-friendly festival style set including a cover of “Purple Rain” which raised a few eyebrows but it was Ray who made the headline slot his own. Unlike some recent occasions there was no vocal choir, just a straight forward no frills basic rock and roll band behind him. Think of a big Kinks song from the 60s and he probably played it, only occasionally dipping out of that decade for the lovely “Celluloid Heroes”, “20^th Century Man”, the jaunty “Come Dancing” and, I’m reliably informed, something from Sleepwalker.

I’m no fan of huge open air gigs but this had a nice relaxed village green atmosphere about it (decent and plentiful toilets, no long queues for beers, easy to wander reasonably near the stage, okay sound, lack of idiots) and despite my general aversion to audience participation hearing thousands sing along to “Sunny Afternoon” as the sun began to set was actually a heart-warming moment.

Ray’s voice is that of a 69 year old man but his vocals have never been the key to his songs so when he alternates verses in “Dedicated Follower of Fashion” between camp North London accent and his tribute to Johnny Cash it matters little, the song remains. Looking at the hugely diverse audience it became apparent how much these songs are woven into the fabric of our culture. I don’t mean our culture, but the general one of the country. Everyone knows these songs, penned by the gent with the oversized shirt collection and crooked teeth; some have taken on a personal meaning to many and the way he sung the opening verses to "Days" brought a lump to my throat.

The night ended with the air filled with the sound of everyone chanting the name of a hulking, champagne quaffing, Soho transvestite. Ray Davies, in London, in the summertime, telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty. God save the Village Green.

RAY DAVIES at the ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL

Ray Davies, we are told, can be a cantankerous, contrary old sod so it’s best to approach these things with an open mind. With little idea what to expect beyond the Crouch End Festival Choir are involved I wondered whether Ray might “treat” us to a bunch of Christmas hymns or plug his new duets album by dragging out special guests to massacre “Lola”. I wasn’t expecting two sets crammed with classics performed acoustically, with a small band, and finally with a massive choir (well, I predicted that last part).

He started the first set accompanied by Bill Shanly and they transformed the vast hall into a warm informal get-together in a pub back room. Early Kinks punker “I Need You” was given a thoughtful new arrangement with neat interplay between the two guitarists, whilst more familiar big hits were casually tossed off with Ray in a chatty mood and keen to get the crowd singing along. With his music hall grounding and it being pantomime season I’ll let it pass but I’m never keen on audience participation. It makes me cringe. I want to hear you sing Ray, not these people looking like they’re sat in front of the telly. Do I ask you to come and polish my lathe?

One chap from the back bellowed for “Harry Rag” and was rewarded with a quick off-the-cuff version. If I could've picked one wild-card number to hear it would've been that, so thanks to them both. Another lesser-spotter Kinks moment came with a lovely folksy “Nothin’ In The World Can Stop Me Worryin’ About My Baby”. His small band emerged (they weren’t dwarves) during “Where Have All The Good Times Gone?” and kept things nice and simple before going into the interval with a thumping “20th Century Man”. Ray spent much of the time sat on a stall as his sparrow legs are so skinny they can’t support the weight when a guitar is hung around his neck.

That set had started with a song I didn’t recognize but was then - to the best of my memory - followed by I Need You, Apeman, Autumn Almanac, Dedicated Follower of Fashion, After The Fall, Nothin’ In The World Can Stop Me Worryin’ About That Girl, Well Respected Man, Dead End Street, Where Have All The Good Times Gone?, Vietnam Cowboys, Harry Rag, In A Moment, Tired Of Waiting, a bit of Victoria and the opening passage from X-Ray, and 20th Century Man.

When asked recently about a Kinks reunion Dave Davies said “I think the music is so beautiful it shouldn’t be tainted. It would be a shame. You don’t need to see silly old men in wheelchairs singing ‘You Really Got Me.’” An admirable stance but I wonder what he would’ve made of said song performed by brother Ray and a 50 strong choir during the second set. It was bizarre to see rows of well-to-do ladies and gents putting down their knitting and pipes to sing one of rock ‘n’ roll’s most primitive, guttural blasts from a music sheet. Not how I’d choose my music yet it gave an added dimension and though visually odd and sometimes distracting it was undoubtably effective on “See My Friends” and the selection from Village Green Preservation Society. If I wanted to hear them as per the records I could've stayed at home. There can be a fine line between adapting songs and ruining them but they were always on the right side.

As the dirty old river rolled in front of the Royal Festival Hall and millions of people swarmed like flies around Waterloo underground to the rear, “Waterloo Sunset” was especially emotive and although Ray didn’t mention it I couldn’t have been the only one to think then of Pete Quaife. Rest his soul.

So there you have it. No Santa hats, no Paloma Faith, just a thoroughly enjoyable selection of songs with glorious Kinks numbers easily rubbing shoulders with newer material. In a weekend when Davies wasn’t the only national treasure to perform in London (Paul who?), he was the only one who could top that earlier set with Celluloid Heroes, Victoria, Shangri-La, Imaginary Man, Village Green, Johnny Thunder, Village Green Preservation Society, Working Man’s Café, Sunny Afternoon, See My Friends, You Really Got Me, Postcards From London, Waterloo Sunset, Days, and All Day and All of the Night.

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THE KINKS - I GOTTA MOVE (1965)

Ain't got time right now but as I know the Turnham family will be tuning in after their Sunday roast, here are the Kinks.

YOU REALLY GOT ME: THE STORY OF THE KINKS (2010)

Some years ago I spent the day getting drunk in sports bar in San Diego and fell in with a group of locals. They were a raggedy bunch and in between fighting each other, making up, telling their hard luck stories, crying, fighting again, cadging drinks and scoring crystal meth, we somehow – incredibly – got on to the subject of The Kinks. It turned out me and one of them had both met Ray Davies. What did you say to him? “I said, “My name is Dan and I’m a fan””. Bet he loved that. “Oh yeah”. I wondered how long Dan had been into them. “Right from the beginning. Way back”. Can you remember the first record you bought? “Schoolboys in Disgrace”. Ah, right, their 1976 concept album with a cartoon of a naughty schoolboy having his bare bum caned. Nice.

That neatly sums up how there are to all intents and purposes two versions of The Kinks. I’d like to bump into Dan again to give him this DVD. He might like it. I feel like I’ve been tortured. The running time is listed as 87 minutes yet it felt like 870. There’s a ground swell of support for a Kinks reunion but careful what you wish for. The band are always held up as the quintessential English group yet hardly anyone in England gives a buttered scone or toasted crumpet for anything they did beyond the 60s. And they released tons of albums: one every year during the 70s, another five in the 80s, and then more still after. On that basis I’ll give The Story of The Kinks some begrudging credit for attempting to cover their entire career, it’s just a pity it’s done in such a sloppy fashion, you wonder why they bothered: a corny “legends” montage; a naff voice-over telling you the band were banned from the US “for unspecified reasons”; caption errors; poor quality footage; weird chronology; baffling song selections; uneven timings; clumsy editing; nasty slow-motion backstage shots; live stadium rock versions; and an endless procession of mullets. It’s awful. It’s like it was made for American television twenty years ago during someone’s lunch break. I’m surprised people have the brass neck to flog this shit – for the ludicrous price of £16.99 - in 2010.

But even with all those distractions, these are The Kinks and if you can persevere (and haven’t heard of that there YouTube website thing) there are slithers of fun to be had. As terrible an R&B band as they were, they were by default an incredible early punk band. Hear the savage treatment they dish out to “I’m A Lover Not A Fighter” and the slurred slaughtering of “Milk Cow Blues” live on television in 1966. And by contrast, the 70s ballads “Celluloid Heroes” and “Misfits” demonstrate if you rummage hard enough you can find excellent material post Muswell Hillbillies.

So there you have it. Dan, if you’re reading this, give me shout and I’ll send you the DVD. If nothing else you might get a couple of bucks for it to help feed the meth habit.

You Really Got Me: The Story of The Kinks is released by ABC Entertainment/Voiceprint, priced £16.99.