Uz karizmatičnog Teda Miltona, frontmena Blurta koje ćemo imati priliku gledati u četvrtak, 22.1.2026., kičmu benda čini i gitarist Steve Eagles, koji je s njima, uz neke manje pauze, preko 40 godina. Beskrajno originalan muzičar, tvorac minimalističkih zavodljivih rifova, zbog kojih je Blurt toliko jedinstven bend, Steve je tih i zamozatajan, no iza zagonetnog osmjeha i poker face izraza krije se zanimljiva prošlost iz vremena slavne britanske punk i new wave eksplozije kraja 70-ih kada je svirao u vrlo popularnim bendovima Satan’s Rats i The Photos te kasnije i u Bang Bang Machine. Evo rijetke prilike da pročavrljamo sa simpatičnim Steveom.
Na sceni si 50 godina, a tvoji bendovi Satan’s Rats i The Photos su bili prilično uspješni. Satan’s Rats su dijelili stage sa Sex Pistolsima, a The Photos sa cijelim nizom utjecajnih UK bendova kao što su The Adverts, The Cure, The Fall, The Undertones, Thompson Twins… Čak su vam U2 jednom bili predgrupa, a vi ste bili predgrupa na stadionskoj turneji Police-a. Mladi Morrisey je pisao o vama, dok je Bowiev producent Tony Visconti radio s vama na drugom albumu. Možeš li se sjetiti nekog zanimljivog detalja ili anegdote iz tog vremena?
Odučio sam se okušati u pisanju knjige. Što to dulje odgađam, to mi djeluje zahtjevnije, pa će u njoj na kraju završiti sve što mi je bilo smiješno ili zanimljivo u tom periodu. Ideja je da knjiga bude podijeljena na poglavlja od kojih je svako posvećeno jednoj temi. Jedno se, recimo, zove „Sex Pistols“. Prilažem prvu verziju pa mi reci što misliš (*spomenuto poglavlje nalazi se na dnu teksta, op.ur.)
Nakon raspada The Photosa zamjenjuješ originalnog gitarista Blurta Pete Creesa i uz neke pauze do danas si ti uz Teda Miltona najveća konstanta benda. Kako je došlo do tvog ulaska u Blurt i odluke da umjesto u popularnom pop punk bendu sviraš u avangardnijem bendu dosta nesigurnije sudbine?
Blurt sam prvi put gledao 1980. u klubu Hope and Anchor u Islingtonu u Londonu. Tri člana The Photosa, jedan roadie i par frendova iz Eveshama zaputili su se tamo tijekom jedne večeri. Bili smo klinci pa su nam Blurt, kad su izašli na pozornicu, djelovali kao neki stari tipovi. Ali onda su krenuli s tom svojom plemenskom, voodoo glazbom pa smo momentalno napustili naše pozicije na šanku i počeli plesati, a ubrzo i urlati, ne kao da gledamo Beatlese ili nešto takvo — nego smo jednostavno izgubili razum. Bio sam kupljen! Kasnije smo saznali da su iz Strouda, što je bilo tek sat vremena autocestom od Eveshama, pa sam se uskoro upoznao s Tedom. Ponekad bismo moj frend Eric i ja došli k njemu, prespavali, pili whiskey i slušali Sun Ra. U jednom trenutku Ted se posvađao s Peteom Creeseom i trebao mu je gitarist pa je pitao mene da uletim. Isprva je to bilo nestalno jer su se The Photos raspadali, a Ted je neko vrijeme angažirao Hermana Martina na klavijaturama, ali sam se 1984. pridružio za stalno. Sviranje avangardne glazbe nije mi predstavljalo problem — meni je to bila samo gitara — ali prava atrakcija bile su turneje po Europi…zanimljiva i zabavna vremena.
Zadržao si originalan repetitivan stil sviranja gitare Pete Creesa, ali si ga nadogradio nizom svojih inovacija. S druge strane, primijetio sam da početak pjesme Irene od The Photosa neodoljivo podsjeća na Blurt. Da li si ti zapravo uvijek htio biti gitarista Blurta?
Peteov gitaristički stil bio je temelj svega, i ja sam vjerovao u Čistoću Koncepta. Za početak stvari, eksperimentirao sam s efektima i delayima. Uvod u stvar „Irene“ je samo neka osnovna tapping tehnika koju sam izmislio… onaj lik iz Van Halena ju je, naravno, pokrao od mene!
Ti si vrsni gitarista, čak si i učitelj gitare. Kako izdržiš da tijekom neke repetitivne teme Blurta koja traje cijelu pjesmu ne skreneš s puta i odsviraš nešto više? Meni to izgleda kao stav – možeš, ali nećeš, i to vidim kao veliku vrijednost Blurta, nema kompromisa. Možeš li komentirati?
„Bez kompromisa“ je jedno, ali sasvim je druga stvar kad se gospodin Milton usred nastupa okrene prema tebi i izdere se. Držao sam se dogovorenog.
Nedavno si djelomično reaktivirao Satan’s Rats s većinom originalnih članova pod imenom Satan’s Cats. Reci nam malo više o tom projektu.
Olly Harrison (bubnjar Satan’s Ratsa i The Photosa te filmaš) mi se javio mailom tijekom Covid lockdowna s idejom da snimimo neke stvari Satan’s Ratsa, ali s njegovom djevojkom Puss Johnson na vokalu. Tako smo i napravili i ispalo je odlično — EP je izdao Salamander Records i dobili smo sjajne kritike. Imali smo planove za još toga, vinilni album i par koncerata… ali čini se da su nas ipak pritisle godine pa nismo nikad to uradli.
Da imaš priliku, bi li se okušao kao gitarist The Residentsa?
Ne. To bi značilo da moram putovati. I to najvjerojatnije u SAD. Jebeš to.
*Poglavlje:
WHEN SATAN’S RATS MET THE SEX PISTOLS…………..
Dunc, God bless him, tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially and indicated that we should come closer.
“Come closer”, he said as if he were Jesus and about to perform a minor miracle.
Like Dunc’s Disciples we shuffled forwards towards the counter of the record shop, behind which stood Dunc, to listen to what he had to say.
“Tomorrow….we are going to Wolverhampton….to play…. with….the Sex Pistols”.
Stunned silence, then a few sniggers.
“Bollocks”, someone said in the most disbelieving of tones.
Dunc’s face is something to behold, “No, never mind them!”, he exclaimed, clearly exploding with triumph and vain glorious self satisfaction.
“It’s a secret gig, SPOTS on tour, Sex Pistols On Tour Secret, or something like that but YOU, you’ll be playing with them”.
“How….and why?”, someone asked.
“Because the agent who blew out our gig in Liverpool the other week at the last minute threw this in our direction by way of compensation. That’s why.”
The penny began to drop and one by one we clambered over the counter of Evesham Record And Tape Centre to give Dunc a kiss.
This last detail may well be a lie but what is true is that we were four members of a punk band from a grubby market town in the Midlands and that Dunc, record shop owner, was our manager. It was also a Tuesday afternoon.
“We leave at 12.00 tomorrow morning to get there at 1.30. The Pistols will be there and you’ll be locked in with them for the entire afternoon until after the soundcheck”.
“You mean we’ll GET a soundcheck?”.
“Yes of course, I’m on the case”, said Dunc with absolute confidence. “But…it IS secret, so don’t go out getting pissed tonight and telling the whole pub and for Christ’s sake don’t tell Big Mart”.
And so it came to pass.
My name is Steve, I’m a guitar player and at this point in my life I was 18. I formed the group with my oldest mate, Rench, on lead vocals and later recruited Olly on drums and Norman Wisdom look-alike, Roy on bass.
The name of the band was Satan’s Rats….and I know, dear reader, what you are thinking….THAT is a crap name for a punk band. Well you may be right but at the beginning of punk rock in the UK in 1976 a band could be formed, named and ready to go inside of a week. We were not Satanists.
My only criteria was that the name would look good on the back of a leather jacket….like Hells Angels. That one’s a winner. The only anti establishment figures round our way at the time were local biker gangs that hung out in local villages, Honeybourne, Willersey and Bidford, places where as a youth I did my cider drinking and sometimes mixed with these gangs. They had great names like Gypsy Warlords,
OffNam Outriders and Badsea Jets. You really couldn’t go wrong with a name like that.
Wednesday morning. The only hire van we could get at short notice was a Luton, all Transit vans in the area were unavailable. For those that don’t know what a Luton is,it’s like a small truck, a cab with a big box behind it, not a walkthrough but a sealed box. Apart from petrol fumes that is. A very dangerous place to put a human being and certainly against the law. But these were the 1970’s.
“Ok Mart, get in then”.
Big Mart was from Yorkshire, he was a hanger-on and he wore a big white boiler suit with I Am A Devo Tee written on it. He was always sweating but he was great on the dancefloor where he would allow himself to be used as a Pogo Launchpad!
He had somehow found out about the gig and he was there outside the record shop, waiting, hanging around. There was no room for him in the car or in the cab of the Luton but, appreciate this, he begged to be allowed in the back of the van. No windows, no light, just darkness, petrol fumes and a few drum cases flying around.
We told him he would die but he didn’t mind dying as long as he got to see The Sex Pistols.
I sat in the front with our two roadies Bilko and Fossie. As well as having cool nicknames they had plans for the future. Bilko, who was driving, wanted to work for Edwin Shirley trucking company and Fossie who was a posh type wanted to become an officer in the Royal Navy.
My plans? To avoid taking a normal job, to be free, to have a good time. I was very focused on becoming a pop star. I was keen on running a tight ship. We must rehearse, they must start on time, we must be productive, we must get to gigs on time, we must get the backline in on time, we must get a soundcheck, we must get things done. I was always giving orders and I too had a cool nickname, Little Hitler.
The Lafayette Club, Wolverhampton. I have no recollection of it’s exterior or where it lived. Probably on a piece of urban wasteland like many of the clubs in the UK, desolate, cold, a howling wind with a rear car park that stank of stale beer and piss.
A gargantuan Sex Pistols truck was already parked up. They were in. I jumped out of the van and began to bark orders until I realised we were in no hurry, we had hours to kill and I decided to chill out. Dunc, Rench, Olly and Roy got out of the car and sniffed the air. Hmmm…the Black Country. Then we opened up the back of the Luton to reveal Big Mart who was still alive but had turned an interesting shade of puce. We all had a little snigger at that as we filed into the club, each carrying a piece of Rats backline.
In our short career we had released three singles on probably the most un hip record label in the UK, DJM Records. It stood for Dick James Music, an old soldier from the music business who’d had the good fortune to sign Elton John and make a few quid.
We didn’t care though, at least someone wanted us and the £6,000 advance came in handy.
For trainspotters, the three singles were “In My Love For You”, “Year Of The Rats” and “You Make Me Sick”.
We also played with many of the bands of the day in many of the clubs of the day, The Vortex, The Roxy and best of all Barbarellas….with Slaughter and The Dogs, XTC, Killjoys, Suburban Studs, The Drones and plenty of others that I just don’t remember.
An honorary mention must go to The Dewsbury Jerks…from Dewsbury. We had a gig in their home town and they were the local support act and they also had a record out. The Jerks played their set to a highly partisan crowd (numbering about 50), we played and were sent packing before we’d even finished our set and then, I kid you not, they took to the stage for a second time (to roars of approval) in order to mime to their own masterpiece called “Get Your Woofin’ Dog Off Me” which the DJ played from the side of the stage. A tackier victory you’ll never see and I still wonder who had the greater shame, them or us.
But this was Wednesday 21st December 1977 and we were playing with Los Pistoleros, High Priests of Punk and purveyors of what was considered to be the most exciting noise in the UK. Such was their notoriety, to play under a pseudonym was the only way they could perform when local councils throughout the country were feverishly queuing up to ban them.
The inside of the Lafayette (or the Laf as locals called it) revealed an archaic looking and compact hall with a balcony that ran the entire perimeter, like an old music hall, including a section that overhung the stage. Christ, I thought, they’ll be gobbing on us all night, thay can’t fucking miss! Imagine, the baying punk mob, disaffected and obviously violent youth from the back streets of Wolverhampton and Dudley want you to stop because they think you’re crap and start hurling bottles, glasses, beer, cider….pints of piss….being gobbed on would seem a pleasure by comparison. Anxiety grew.
I looked around. Yes, The Pistols were there alright, along with the PA crew, Pistol’s roadies and a couple of huge bodyguards. Some of our lot were sat talking to a spiky top in a long black overcoat….it was Sid. I moved in, I could smell entertainment. A few months before, we were leaving London in a Transit van and spotted Sid walking along the Bayswater Road. “Sid”, we shouted and pulled over to say hello and pay our respects but all we received was a scowl and a leer so we drove off flashing the V’s. He wouldn’t remember us.
Sid looked ill. He was deep inside his overcoat fighting off an imaginary Arctic chill whilst still managing to retain the semi-permanent sneer on his deathly white phizog.
“Where you staying tonight Sid?”, asked Big Mart in his northern brogue. Sid replied in the Dickensyian tone of a sick guttersnipe….
“The fackin’ Frank Coopah ‘Otel”
“Where was that Sid?”, asked Mart again
“The Frank Coopah ‘Otel, I fackin’ hate it”
“Why’s that then Sid?”, said Mart
“The windows are painted in, it’s fackin’ horrible. I ‘ate bein’ up north.
The conversation went along in that manner for a while with our lot chuckling with each new Sid utterance. He looked like he had the flu or something. I think it was the something, the dope, the smack….and who should walk in at that moment….the peroxided provider herself, Nancy Spungen.
Her entry caused a minor stir as she walked over to the mixing desk area where most of the activity seemed to be taking place. Sid barely noticed her, if at all.
Enter Johnny Rotten who had until now, been keeping himself very quiet. It’s well known that he despised Nancy, for getting his mate Sid hooked was probably the main reason, and he made a move. In what was almost an effort to distract Sid from her for a few more minutes he did something quite extraordinary. He found two hammers from a toolbox and then marched up to the stage and sat behind Paul Cook’s drum kit. Then, with bulging eyes and toothy grin, he started to smash away at the drums and cymbals like some deranged marionette, arms high in the air being pulled by invisible strings. All eyes were on him. Even Sid stared at him with some amusement.
After the performance Rotten leapt from the stage and with hammers waving came over to where we were sat.
“ You should see me when I’m on TOP FORM !!”, he announced in his nasal drawl. His arms fell to his side as he eyeballed Sid.
“Sid-er-nee….how are you?”
“I’m alright John, I’ve met some new friends. They’re fackin’ Chuglies though”.
A Chugly seemed to be their word for someone north of Watford. The two of them continued to berate us with it causing high mirth. It made us feel good….having the piss ripped out of us.
Nancy was hovering and J. Rotten retreated, once more, to the shadows.
Sid,meanwhile, was beginning to look restless which was spotted by Big Mart.
“Sid, I’m going to get some chips, shall I get you some Sid?”
“Nah”, said Sid
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t want no chips”
“But I’m going right now”
“Don’t want no chips”
“You won’t be allowed out anyway Martin”, said someone
“Sid, are you sure?”.....
“MARTIN, we howled, HE DOESN’T WANT ANY FUCKING CHIPS….leave him ALONE you MORON!”
And so on, and so forth.
Steve Jones, guitar player and famous cat burglar was playing about with the microphone on the mixing desk. The mic had a distorted delay effect on it which gave his Sieg Heils a fairly menacing touch as he jackbooted across the dancefloor. Paul Cook, drummer, was quiet throughout.
Other things of note:
1. Sid’s bass stack sounded horrible, like it was being played through a fuzzbox. No one seemed to care though.
2. The Pistol’s guitar roadie was called Rodent
3. Dunc said that the big meathead Pistols bodyguard had done time for murder but once you got to know him he was a nice bloke!
The Gig. Ahh the gig. What had I been so worried about? We slayed ‘em, we Slayed ‘em in Wolverhampton!
They swooned to the driving rhythms of Olly, Roy went Boom Boom Boom, I went Thrash Twang Screetch and Rench was a STAR! The crowd were in an indescribably exuberant mood, the place was packed to the rafters and no one threw beer over us. We were covered in gob though…but that was a sign of respect! Of course it was, they loved us! What harm can a bit of gob do you? (Well you could’ve asked Joe Strummer that one).
The crowd wanted more so we came back for an encore. Glory be. I swanked around the stage in my pink plastic trousers….some YAM YAM in the crowd shouted “wanker!”, which I ignored, must have been aimed at Rench. Fuck it. SUCCESS!
We came off stage dripping with sweat into the tiny dressing room. At that precise moment a hatch opened and four Sex Pistols fell through it landing on the floor. They must have just got back from the Frank Cooper Hotel, I thought.
There wasn’t much room in there so us Rats had to vacate….into the rear car park and our new dressing room, the Luton van.
I got drunk, I know that, and I also know that I was witness to one of the best gigs I’ve ever seen. It might be tempting to say that The Pistols couldn’t play, they were a crushing bore, what was all the fuss about? But yarbles to that…they were SENSATIONAL!
Powerful and brilliant, Rotten’s act pure Vaudeville….who could forget his impression of the Michelin man?
“Give me your clothes”, implored Rotten as he gazed up to the balcony. Mohair jumpers and allsorts were hurled at him from every direction, he reached skywards to receive attire from above. And then he put them all on. To the backdrop of No Fun he slowly but surely evolved into the grotesque and comical looking form of a famous tyre manufacturer.
Steve Jones in front of a battered Fender Twin with the words Guitar Hero graffitied on it was actually that. His playing was everything, he was driving it, him and Cook. Sid was Sid, something to look at and whatever he was playing somehow meshed into fabulous energy that was emitting from the stage. The whole place rocked, a joyous and sometimes violent celebration of British youth culture.
The Pistols were like a magnesium flare….they burned so very very brightly. Catch ‘em while you can, I thought.
A while later the club was virtually empty. Bilko and Fossie had finished loading the van and assorted Rats were sat about eyeing up bedraggled punkettes. Dunc was puffing on a cigar. “What about that then boys?” Nobody really said anything because it kind of felt like it was the best day of our lives and what do you say to that? Then I spotted Rench looking uncomfortable and slightly agitated with that look in his eye. He shuffled round in his chair and then stood up looking down at Dunc. “When are you gonna get us some proper fucking gigs?”, he said. And with that, walked out of the back door.
English version:
Along with the charismatic Ted Milton, Blurt’s frontman, the backbone of the band is also guitarist Steve Eagles, who has been with them, with some minor breaks, for over 40 years. An infinitely original musician, the creator of minimalist seductive riffs, which make Blurt such a unique band, Steve is quiet and shy, but behind the enigmatic smile and poker face expression is an interesting past from the time of the famous British punk and new wave explosion of the late 70s when he played in the very popular bands Satan’s Rats and The Photos and later in Bang Bang Machine. Here’s a rare opportunity to chat with the lovely Steve.
You have been on the scene for 50 years, and your bands Satan’s Rats and The Photos were quite successful. Satan’s Rats shared the stage with the Sex Pistols, and The Photos with a whole host of influential UK bands such as The Adverts, The Cure, The Fall, The Undertones, Thompson Twins… U2 even supported you once, and you supported the Police on a stadium tour. A young Morrisey wrote about you, while Bowie’s producer Tony Visconti worked with you on the second album. Can you remember any interesting details or anecdotes from that time?
I’ve challenged myself with writing a book Kornel and the longer I leave it the more challenging it becomes so anything that was funny or interesting will be in there. The idea is that there will be a series of chapters dealing with one subject at a time. One chapter for example is called “Sex Pistols”. I’ll attach the first draft and you can tell me what you think.
After The Photos broke up, you replaced original Blurt guitarist Pete Creese, and with some breaks, you have been the band’s biggest constant, along with Ted Milton, to this day. How did you join Blurt and decide to go from a popular pop punk band to a more avant-garde band with a much more uncertain fate?
I first saw Blurt at The Hope and Anchor in Islington, London in 1980. Three members of The Photos, a roadie and a couple of mates from Evesham went there on one of our nights off. We were young so when Blurt walked on the stage they seemed like old guys to us but they started playing this tribal voodoo music and we left our positions at the bar and started dancing, then we found ourselves screaming, not like they were The Beatles or anything, but we just lost our minds. I was a fan. Then we found out that they were from Stroud which was only an hour down the motorway from Evesham so I got to know Ted and sometimes me and my mate Eric would visit him , stay overnight, drink whiskey and listen to Sun Ra. At some point Ted had a fight with Pete Creese and needed a guitar player so he asked me. It was a bit stop /start because The Photos were splitting up and Ted used Herman Martin on keyboards for about a year but I joined permanently in 1984. Playing avant-garde music was no problem, to me it was just guitar playing but the big attraction was touring around Europe….interesting and fun times.
You kept Pete Creese’ original repetitive guitar playing style, but you upgraded it with a series of your own innovations. On the other hand, I noticed that the beginning of The Photos’ song Irene is irresistibly reminiscent of Blurt. Did you always want to be Blurt’s guitarist?
Pete’s guitar style was the blueprint and I believed in Concept Purity. To open things out I would experiment with FX sounds and delays. The intro to “Irene” is just some rudimentary tapping technique that I made up…..that bloke from Van Halen stole it off me obviously!
You are an excellent guitarist, you are even a guitar teacher. How do you manage not to deviate from the path and play something more during a repetitive Blurt theme that lasts the entire song? To me, it seems like an attitude – you can, but you won’t, and I see that as a great value of Blurt, there is no compromise. Can you comment?
Well ‘no compromise’ is one thing but it was quite another thing for Mr. Milton to turn round and bark at you mid performance. I stuck to the straight and narrow.
You recently partially reactivated Satan’s Rats with most of the original members under the name Satan’s Cats. So, what’s this mission all about?
Olly Harrison (Satan’s Rats and Photos drummer and film maker) emailed me during Covid lockdown to suggest recording some Rat’s tunes with his girlfriend Puss Johnson on vocals. So we did that and it turned out great, released an E.P. on Salamander Records and all these great online reviews rolled in. We had plans to do some more, make a vinyl album and do some shows….but I think we’re feeling our age and never got round to it.
If you had the chance, would you try your hand at being the guitarist for The Residents?
No. It would mean I’d have to travel. And most likely to the United States. Fuck that.
