Hell's Angels

"Some days it was like a travelling revival show inside the bus. Usually Bob was the the preacher and rock'n'roll was the sermon. The hymns might come from The MC5, they might come from The Impressions. We would invoke the names of saints, heroes and friends. Bobby might call out Elvis! Aretha! or Keith! and we would all cry Amen!"

IN MEMPHIS LAST YEAR, JIM DICKINSON TOLD US THAT HE sees a record as 'an act of communion hetween the artist and the listener". I love Dickinson for his love; as a source of rock'n'roll he is a hero, but as a fan of rock' n' roll he is a brother. And I love Primal Scream for their love, too.

Primal Scream's heroes are music lovers as well as music makers; Dan Penn, Gram Parsons and Merle Haggard all filled their records with a love for their spiritual forebears. None of them were afraid to pay tribute or to let their influences show. Here is where Primal Scream belong. They may plant their seeds in the shadow of the past, but their records hear fresh fruit.

The first time I saw Primal Scream they looked like the bastard offspring of Love - all fringes, leather and arrogance. Onstage they barely moved, but they radiated energy and aggression. A Scottish voice in the crowd kept crowing "Genius! Genius!". Four songs in, Bobby Gillespie turned to the band, shrugged his shoulders and they were gone. 10 minutes. It was like a dream.

Six months later I met Bobby for the first time when some friends and I started putting on bands; our third gig was Primal Scream. A year after that, we put them on again: as they went on stage I played my copy of Expecting To Fly, by Buffalo Springfield, and I think that in that moment I secured three friends for life. After they'd played, Bob came down to look through my records. I've never seen Bobby not look through a pile of records. The more we talked, the more we found we had in common. He had stuff I thought only I had, and there were things that neither of us had heard but both wanted to hear.

From then on we started exchanging tapes. I'd record Bob Dylan bootlegs and send them off with pictures of Keith Richards and obscure, rambling letters. In return, I'd get photocopied Nick Kent articles on The Stooges and the Stones and tapes of New York Dolls demos and riots at Suicide gigs. Pretty soon I'd see the Scream wherever they played. I'd stand at the front and shout "Judas!" and Bob would shout back, "You're a liar! You're a fucking liar!". That Dylan obsession bonded us together.

By the summer of 1988, the band was down to a trio and about to be reborn. Bobby and Robert Young were living in Brighton, and Andrew Innes near me in the East End. So now these people were my friends and the next year changed us all. Suddenly everything was Johnny Thunders, acid house and ecstasy.

THE NEW YORK DOLLS AND FRANKIE Knuckles were the twin peaks of an 18-month high. The Dolls changed the way we thought. Once that incredible energy had entered our col lective bloodstream we were junkies for it. Most affected was Robert. Where before there had been a poised, careful and cool bass player, now there was an embryonic guitar hero. The guitar set him free. Robert will die for rock'n'roll even if he lives to be 100 years old. In the past few years we have come to love Charlie Freeman, the late and legendary guitarist of The Dixie Flyers. I know very little about Freeman, but when I try to imagine what he was like I always see Robert. Blues for the Red Man.

But if the Dolls taught us how to rock, house music showed us how to roll. No matter how much we loved The Meters or Chuck Berry, it always seemed a fairly private affair. Walking into a house party for the first time was as much a life-change as losing your virginity - only like losing it to 500 people at once. Your senses were soon spinning around your head, amid sights and sounds of sex and sin. You could smell the energy the flink that hung heavy in the air. I'd never imagined that women could look so good or seem so free. Even the men might make you stop and stare.

Initially, Andrew fell hardest for the whole house phenomenon, but his roots lay in northern soul. Speed and rhythm have always been his specialities and always will be. He is a rock'n'roll Steve Cropper; the engine of the band. The partnership between Andrew and Robert gave birth to the Primal Scream of today They provide the platform upon which everything else is secured.

Around this time, Martin Duffy started to play with the band. At 26, Martin looks like a photograph negative of Professor Longhair at 60, and plays a little bit like that too. He's probably the purest musician in the band, bringing in echoes of Thelonious Monk, Johnnie Johnson, Jerry Lee and Cecil Taylor. His voice sounds like his throat was pickled in whisky before he was even born. Martin brings the blues to Primal Scream.

The all-new Primal Scream first appeared in public in 1989, at the Hacienda in Manchester. There was a sense amongst the band that something good was starting to happen, and everybody was pumped up. The first night back on tour is usually like getting out ofjail, but that night felt more like being transferred to Death Row Everything just went flat. An hour after the end of the show I was sitting out on the fire escape with Andrew both of us sunk in despondency It was as if rock'n'roll had died and the sun was never going to rise again.

18 hours later we were sitting in the back of the bus outside the venue in Leeds. The sun had come up and we'd been given another chance. Everybody knew what had to be done. A combination of amphetamine and Jerry Lee Lewis pushed the heat up. The gig was like an exorcism, all doubts expelled. Later that night a euphoric Bob collapsed on to me and said, "Man, we're back on the road." And that's where we stayed for the next six months. In fact, that's probably where we've been ever since.

For a while though it all seemed to spiral away to nothing. We'd return to venues we'd sold out two months earlier only to find them deserted. Nobody wanted to know The British music press and the concept of rock'n'roll haven't sat too well together for a long time now and Primal Scream were an anathema. But the DJ Andrew Weatherall recognised that the band was trying to create an energy level which, at that time, you could only find in house clubs.

In fact, Andy Weatherall was Primal Scream's Road to Damascus. Apart from the obvious commercial success that the hit single Loaded provided, it gave them the belief to go on and make the Screamadelica album. The first time we heard Loaded played in a club has got to be one of the greatest moments. To see a whole room erupt spontaneously to the record was a unique feeling. Clubs were where we'd been getting our kicks but we were seen to be part of another world.

THE EUROPEAN TOUR OF JANUARY 1990 was conducted in the spirit of Nero. Due to the absence of illegal stimulants we were forced to improvise. Anything and everything was tried; Bob and I even attempted to convince some provincial French chemist that we had a weight problem, which isn't easy when you're six foot tall and weigh nine stone.

Some days it was like a travelling revival show inside the bus. Usually Bob was the preacher and rock'n'roll was the sermon. The hymns might come from The MCS, they might come from The Impressions. We would invoke the names of saints, heroes and friends. Bobby might call out "Elvis! Aretha!" or "Keith!" and we would all cry "Amen!".

It all became too much for the sound guy, and before we knew it he was gone. The next gig was in Milan. We arrived three hours late, but, undeterred, set up and started playing. The gig was to be broadcast on Italian radio so I was elected to be responsible for the sound. I'd never touched a mixing desk before, but I knew how I wanted the band to sound. Everything was pushed up to full: amidst the sound of exploding guitars we gladly slipped into psychosis.

A few weeks later the tour had collapsed, Bob had disappeared and the rest returned to London to lick their wounds. It was Andrew who broke the news to me and I'd never heard him sound so happy.

I don't always enjoy being part of Primal Scream. Sometimes I resent the seemingly relentless pressure to live and breathe rock'n'roll. There have been occasions when I've tried to pull myself away but I've never been able to do it. I've sat alone in my room, months removed from stage or studio, and been able to smell and taste the charge and the excitement ofjust being out there and part of it. For most of 1990 I managed to keep myself away from the action, but 1991 saw me sucked back in.

The year started with the band in the studio recording what was to become Screamadelica. Every night Bob would come back to my flat. I lived in a tiny room which hung over railway tracks and shook every time a train passed by and though Bob had to share my single bed he seemed content to call it home for a couple of months. We would spend hours together; reading and listening to records; and in that time I watched their album grow.

Every morning before Bob left for the studio, he'd play The Most Beautiful Girl by Charlie Rich and I'm Stone In Love With You by The Stylistics. As the sun shone into the room these records seemed to carry the sound of the new day They were such innocent times. We were free and easy as long as we were in my room. Soul was beginning to take up more and more of our listening time, so I decided to find out more about it.

Sweet Soul Music by Peter Guralnick is, for me, a kind of bible. So much joy has come from that book in the past four years. Guralnick writes about music and musicians with such love. All his books are special, but that's the one that really turned things around. Here was our gateway to the world of southern soul.

Memphis. Muscle Shoals. New Orleans.. . What is it about the music that came out of the American south 30 years ago that so enchanted us a generation later? I don't believe that music has a sell-by date. If I find an old single from Memphis or New Orleans that I've never heard before, I'm always going to take the time to find Out what it's like. Put that record on and connect with it and it's as current as anything else. If I listen to Eddie Bo, he makes me feel great now There's no nostalgia involved; as much as I'd love to have been hanging out in the Crescent City in 1970, I wasn't. Every record I love is, at its most basic level, a declaration of being.

Perhaps the most important find in Sweet Soul Music was Dan Penn. Dan, along with guys like Spooner Oldham, Donnie Fritts and Fddie Hinton, was somebody we could connect with straight away He may have been from another time and another place, but the music he made tore right into our hearts. And here was proof that soul isn't a colour thing. These were white boys making some of the most soulful music we'd ever heard. If they could do it then so could Bobby, Andrew and Robert.

By 1992, the band had achieved so much, but there was still one thing to be done - tour the States. I'd sat with Bob many times in the preceding years and fantasised about America. We'd talk of "bringing it all back home". America is important to Primal Scream because without Amenca there would be no Primal Scream.

The tour dates were like poetry Every name stirred our hearts. The second night was in New York City one of the many homes of rock'n'roll.

Two nights in and everything was already somewhere it had never been before. Slowly and imperceptibly, the band started to change. We all shifted into a higher gear; and at times it seemed that things might fall apart. Suffice to say it took everybody over a year to come down.

The success of Screamadelica had made everything more serious and a follow-up wasn't going to come easy After a lot of anguish a plan finally fell into place. Many names had been discussed regarding a rhythm section and a producer, and in the end Joe McEwen, the American A&R, came up with Roger Hawkins, David Hood and Tom Dowd.

I think initially people were unsure whether they were good enough to work with guys like these, but the idea developed a life of its own and pretty soon all three were on their way over to rehearse. Roger and David came first. These two had played on so many records we loved: Aretha Franklin, Percy Sledge, Rod Stewart, James Carr; Donnie Fritts and so many more. It was hard to believe they were coming to London.

As soon as I walked into the rehearsal room on the first day, I knew it was going to work. Suddenly I was listening to a different band. Roger Hawkins and David Hood were both mesmerising, especially Roger. He sat there in his brightly coloured shirt, and though he hardly seemed to move he made those drums talk. On top of the rhythm Andrew Robert and Martin seemed freed. At last they had the time and the space to concentrate on what they were doing. By the time Tom was due to arrive, communication between the band and the boys from Muscle Shoals was well and truly established.

Tom Dowd is an incredible man. He's not far short of 7O years old but he has an energy that puts the rest of us to shame. Right from the start he took charge, injecting a sense of discipline into the proceedings. No Phil Spector though is Tom; he'd rather encourage people to be themselves, to play what they feel. In that he was perfect for Primal Scream. I think he's helped them to believe in what they can do.

Recording was set for Memphis, and as much as I wanted to I wasn't sure that I'd be able to get out there for it. Then, a few weeks before the band were due to leave, the Mojo writer Robert Gordon called to say that Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham were going to play an acoustic gig on Beale Street whilst the band were out there. That was it: I was going.

After a week in Memphis we drove down to Muscle Shoals. There are not many places in America where Primal Scream can be trusted to behave themselves, but Muscle Shoals is definitely one of them. Everything seems to shut by nine o'clock, so it's probably a great place to make a record. Ten days of rest and relaxafion was probably just what was needed.

Towards the end of the sessions Jim Dickinson finally put in an appearance. It was never planned that he be there but it was something I'd been praying for. The first time we were in Memphis, an afternoon was spent in a tattoo parlour making a video; neither Bob nor I were into it so, stuck for something to do, we called Dickinson. He was recording in the city and we went to see him.

My spirits have never been so lifted by a 10-minute conversation. Bob and I both acted like bumbling fans, but Dickinson was a star. Re's always talked about as the guy who played piano on Wild Horses, but there's much more to him than that. He plays on Big Jet Plane on the new album and everybody loved working with him. For me the important thing is that a relationship has been established, and it'll be a crime if they don't work together again.

Winning the approval of someone like Jim Dickinson or George Clinton means more to the band than almost anything else. These are the people that have inspired us day in, day out for years. George Clinton mixed three songs on the album and actually sings on two of them. With Funky Jam the Primals have managed to bring together the Muscle Shoals rhythm section, the Memphis horns and Clinton himself. If ever there was a dream team that's got to be one. For me, though, the standout, probably of the whole album, is Give Out. Like with Higher Than The Sun, different elements come together here to make something new.

The other connection made through getting mixes done is with George Drakoulias. Here again is someone who sees inside the music and recognises that it is made by kindred spirits. George turned Rocks into the record it was shy of being, into the record it was always meant to be. Then in December the band Ilew out to LA to re-record Call On Me, and finally through the auspices of George Drakoulias, it sounded like the song it is. Yes, of course, it sounds like The Faces, but what's wrong with that? It sounds right and it feels right.

Three weeks ago, the band made a video for Rocks. Video shoots are usually torture and for a long while this one felt like it was going to be. The magic ingredients were a small PA and an audience. Over the years my best times with the band have been at soundchecks and rehearsals. When the pressure's off and they just let it loose, then they can really soar. The music takes over and nothing else matters. Well, that night they did inde soar. Stones songs, Elvis songs, even a few of their own. All played with a sense of abandon that can only come from sheer joy In front of an audience Rocks became a different song. You know it's a party record, but needs a party Music needs people.

Primal Scream make music that they hope will touch people's lives like so much other music has touched theirs. They make music that eel brates feeling. Feeling good, feeling bad. Music that will stand by your side. That's all.

Q & A with Bob

Originally Appeared in Mojo April 1994. Written by Tim Tooher.