Back to the point then. With Doctor And The Medics, the Guild’s bookers had achieved one better than King, as they were the first act to actually be number one the week they played. Odd as it may seem now, it was BIG news that they were playing. Before topping the charts, I seem to remember they had already established a solid reputation as a hard-working live band. Seems strange now, when history judges them as a one hit wonder of the rather specialised niche market of post-punk/glam/Goth/pop which they inhabited. (A world in which they lived with only Strawberry Switchblade for company.) Actually, they weren’t a one hit wonder at all, but do you remember the title of their second hit? Or their cover of Abba’s ‘Waterloo’ with Roy Wood of Wizzard, who looked as if he was separated at birth from the good Doctor himself? Thought not. That was their third and final hit, later the same year.

So, it was with great anticipation that my 17 year-old sister came over to stay with 20 year-old me in our leaky student hovel in Erdington for the gig of the year. I had recently come out to her, and was feeling the relief of not having to worry which of my friends she spoke to, lest they should let slip that her brother was a poof. We were out gigging as equals, determined to enjoy ourselves, and get a good view, so we squeezed right down the front. The stage was about four feet off the ground in our Guild’s hall, so you could comfortably lean on it, although you were being crushed by the heaving, pogoing masses pushing your chest into the front. Still once you were there, you couldn’t be moved, and you had a fantastic view, right up the noses of whoever was on stage. When the singer is as tall as Clive Jackson (for that was the Doctor’s name), who was about seven feet tall in platforms, that was a very strange view indeed. But we loved it. We pogoed along for the first few songs. Or, more precisely, we rubbed ourselves up and down at the front of the stage. We were loving it. The fabulous poppy tunes! The mad women backing singers! The doctor’s HUGE hair! The scary make-up! His fabulously flared, tight, velvet loon pants! Oh, the loon pants. And then, it happened. Halfway through one of the songs, I noticed, to my horror, that the zip on the aforementioned doctor’s loon pants had burst open. Well, they were tight, it’s probably not surprising. What a trooper though – he’s carrying on as if he hasn’t noticed. Good job he’s wearing dark pants.
· link