Book Contents
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sample the first article below!
3 Hello! This is where it all begins
7 We need to start with a Lambretta, don’t we? And what better than an original TV with all the right bits?
14 Down at the Astoria the scene was changing… whatever happened to Britain’s mirrorball dance halls?
19 We are the Mods, we are the Mods… repeat ad nauseum. Bob Clarke is old enough to remember back when
24 It’s Mod up north. You can find dyed-in-the- wool Mods in a thousand places, but none are more dedicated than the Yorkshiremen
30 Whereas in Chicago things are a bit different – and while they might not have got the style dead right, it’s very good to see
35 Steve Marriott just had it all; the looks, the style, the talent. He was this country’s greatest ever blue-eyed soul singer
42 Dave Pettifor is devoted to the music of Paul Weller, and he wants the world to know it. But can a Mod scooter have murals – oooh, that’s a tough one
48 And talking of Surrey’s finest, here’s Paul himself, and – a few pages further on – one of the best Jam tribute bands you’ll ever hear 59 Tamla Motown was the great black r ’n’ b record label of the 60s (still doing kind of
well…), but it was Stax that has real soul
65 ‘Dressed right for a beach fight’ – no two ways about it, you’ve just got to look right, haven’t you?
71 Here’s one of the geezers, and here’s his Vespa too. And what he doesn’t know about scooters isn’t worth knowing
79 So, what’s going on right now? What’s the sound of today? Paul Hooper-Keeley of Biff Bang Pow ought to know… so we asked him
82 The boogaloo Investigators describe themselves as a Scottish soul/r ’n’ b/blues band – so they had to be worth a listen
86 It’s a Saturday afternoon and you’ve been shopping for clothes. So where’s the best place to meet your mates and catch up on the gossip? Ah, the coffee bar!
93 Brian Dickie is a real original; he was a Mod the first time round, but the years haven’t blunted his passions
99 We can sum it all up in one word: Brighton. It’s all here – the Mods, the scooters, the trashy lights and the teeth-snapping rock
122 Think of a Mod movie. Then think of another. Struggling? Then you’ve never heard of American Mod
124 Those Gallagher brothers! How Mod were they? Did they owe it all to the 60s?
And do they still?
130 The Farewell Foto – striding out in style
. 5-4-3-2-1
Page 3 -The MOD years
June 1968 - I was 16 on the eighth - and though the first
wave of Mod had been around in the south for several
years and was starting to wane, in the southern suburbs
of Manchester it was a strong as could be. Thanks to the
fact that I had no problems getting up really early in
those days (how times have changed) and had a weekend
job working on a milk round, I had already saved up
as much as I needed for a really good scooter.
 I knew just
what I wanted; it had to be either a TV or an SX. No question.
No point getting something from the second division;
my mate, who only had a paper round (which paid
far less well) only had an Li, and by the late 60s that simply
wasn't good enough. Everyone I knew had a
Lambretta, by the by; Vespas weren't thought to be as
cool, and were seen as a bit 'southern'.
It took me just days to find it. A TV175 with an SX150
engine - I saw it in the small ads in The Manchester
Evening News, and got a mate to take me up to the badlands
of north Manchester on the back of his scooter. It
was perfect; ivory in colour and with just a few accessories
- front crash bars, rear spare wheel rack (vertical,
not horizontal!), and red and white striped seat. Plenty
of scope for adding more. And more.
He was asking 50 quid and we settled on 45.
I'd never
ridden a scooter before, just my dad's old two-stroke
commuting motorcycle, but nothing daunted, I jumped
on and rode it home. No insurance - I got round to that
eventually; cost me £3 as I remember - and certainly no Lplates
and no helmet. The latter bit wasn't an offence; you
didn't need to wear a helmet until, I think, 1972. I passed
my test in November 1968 bare-headed.
It was one of the most glorious moments of my life. No
two ways about it. I was no longer limited by how far I
could cycle or where the bus when; I had my own wheels I
could go anywhere. Freedom. Glorious freedom. Plus, of
course, I was suddenly on the inside. I was one of the guys.
I think there was a hard core of about 20 of us, though if
you rode a few miles in any direction you'd find scores more.
We all had Lambrettas and they all looked terrific. Getting
the bits was never a problem - whether you haggled with
mates for a set of second-hand Florida bars or mirror stalks,
or went to Ron's scooter shop for mirror lenses or a pair of
lovely, long-trumpet scarlet air horns. If you had to, if you
wanted something really special like a megaphone exhaust
you could always go into Manchester, where there were any
number of accessory shops down the south end of Deansgate.
Then there were the clothes of course. No problems there.
I was tall and skinny, and to be honest I looked pretty good in Mod
clothes - my only problem was that I wore glasses, and I hated that.
I got a pair with big black rims, like Manfred Mann's, and that was
the best I could do. A mate spent a wet Sunday afternoon teaching
me how to dance - God bless him - and I never looked back.
The weekend started on Thursday night. We'd usually go to
whoever had the most indulgent parents, and all squeeze into the
front room to watch Top of the Pops, then we'd ride over to a
youth club on the other side of town. What was more glorious
than riding through your home town with a whole bunch of other
guys, looking good, and just knowing that everyone - everyone -
turned round to look at you. And when we got there we'd park
diagonally, all exactly parallel. Perfect.
 Thursday was an alcohol-free night, and an early finish, but
Friday was better. It was a similar start, but with Ready Steady Go
this time, then it was off to a club - loud, sweaty, frantic, brilliant;
four halves of lager and lime, maybe a bag of chips just before
the chippie shut, and then the ride home - with each guy pealing
off from the pack as we got the end of their road.
Saturday
was just the same - laughing at the jerks on Thank Your Lucky
Stars on ITV and Juke Box Jury on BBC first - as was Sunday. How
I ever got up for school on Monday morning, I don't know.
Saturday afternoon was brilliant. After lunch we'd gather at
the bus station in the middle of town - scooters parked off to
one side, by the baths, all pointing out on exactly the same
angle. There was a Wimpey bar and a coffee bar, and we'd
hover between the two - making plans for the night, laughing
and messing about, looking at girls, talking about our scooters
and the latest singles, then walking up George Street and into
Market Street - checking out the clothes shops. I was lucky; my
auntie worked at the Oxfam shop (the very first charity shop)
and she was brilliant. She told me if there was ever anything
good in.
She got me an RAF greatcoat and I pinned a line of
medals to the chest. It was in the window for all of 10 shillings.
I gave her five and she put the rest in the till herself.
That was 1968 - half a lifetime ago - but the memories are
as strong as if it was last week. Heaven only knows where my
TV/SX is now, but I very much hope it is still around and being
loved and ridden. Thirty-seven years on and here I am with
The Mod Years, which I very much hope you enjoy. Funny old
world, isn't it?
END OF SAMPLE
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