The Spirit of '76
A long delay, sad news and a Fringe announcement
Hello everyone, apologies for the the gap between my last substack and now. If ever there was anything that typifies my personality (and maybe my ADHD?) its the binary output of my actions: all or nothing.
Each week I planned to make a return to writing and the days would roll into another bygone partition of time. The eternal optimist inside of me said “next week for sure”. I’m not sure it’s self sabotage or self-indulgence but here we are, back again.
Tuesday brought the sad news that Mike Peters, the Welsh punk-rocker who fronted The Alarm and - for a short time - Big Country was finally free of his twenty year long battle with cancer.
I’m not a big music fan; it’s not my first port of call when I get downtime. I’d always rather watch something than listen. But when I do listen to music, it’s almost invariably The Alarm.
I went to see The Alarm for the first time when I was around five years old at the Barrowlands. Meeting Mike backstage is an early memory, notably the can of coke I was allowed to plunder from an ice-filled wicker basket. I would play The Alarm’s Declaration album for my older brother Alexander, who has quadriplegic cerebral palsy and is non-verbal. Music is definitely Al’s first port of call. Growing up in our household, if someone suggested putting a film on Al would almost leap out of his wheelchair, his whole body would spasm and shake as he threw his head and contemptuously pointed his eyes at the cd player which sat in the corner of the living room. That’s how Al communicates: he points with his eyes at cues and clues. What he was saying was “no, put some music on”. The Alarm are his favourite band and Mike was his personal friend.
The genesis of their friendship goes back to the early 1980s and was forged through my uncle Gordon who lived in London and was friends with Mike. The Alarm broke into the charts with their eponymous hit 68 Guns, a barnstorming guitar classic with rugged vocals and lyrics which are based on the street gang of Glasgow. In the bands early days when The Alarm came to play in Glasgow there was a time they stayed in my nan’s house which was next door to ours as part of a semi-detached in Summerston. My baby-sitter Val who lived up the road was a huge Alarm fan. She tells me she her sister went to see U2 play at Murrayfield and phoned her to say the support band called The Alarm were amazing. Lots of people have shared the same memory with me, the Alarm also opened for Queen and Bob Dylan. My mum said she was making a fried Scottish breakfast for Mike and the boys when she ran out of bacon, and phoned Val’s mum Margaret and Val dropped down some extra supplies, the front door opening and Mike appearing was something she never expected.
A very young Alexander sitting with his uncle Gordon and Mike Peters to his left.
As a young child I’d spend hours with Alexander in our garage playing Alarm records, grabbing the broom and pretending to slash out the guitar chords. I’d draw out the band logo - a weeping red poppy - on paper and walls to amuse Al.
Over the years, Alexander would go to see the Alarm and often I’d go with him and as I got older I would be the main carer for Al at these events and people would come up to me at the gig to ask if Alexander was my brother and upon confirmation they’d tell me they remembered him from an Alarm gig at the QMU, ar at Strathclyde Union, or the Academy or the Barrowlands whether it had been ten and or twenty years before.
Alexander even interviewed Mike Peters for the Evening Times, using his “light-talker” voice machine in conjunction with another family friend, the music journalist Billy Sloan. I have so many memories of the Alarm and Mike through the lens of my brother. When T in the Park first launched as a music festival they played the first year at Strathclyde Park. Al went along with a carer and without a ticket and managed to catch Mike’s attention and they went back the following day as a result of Mike’s generosity. Mike always made time for Alexander. I knew the lyrics of almost all Alarm songs without realising, it was a default music position and I never really thought much more about it. I certainly never thought of them as my first choice.
Mike and Al after a gig at the Barrowlands
It wasn’t until I was in New York on a solo holiday in 2017 that I realised the Alarm was also my favourite band. I happened to see a sign at the Gramercy Theatre that they were playing there and ironically I couldn’t buy a ticket with a UK bankcard through an American site. But I managed to get a Facebook message to Jules Peters, Mikes wife, and I got a guest-list to watch them. Maybe it was because I was on my own - no Alexander to manoeuvre or protect in a crowded music hall - I fully immersed myself with the music. But from that point on I realised everything Mike’s music was about resonated with me: he sung about breaking the system, breaking free from oppression and living in hope and love.
Every year Mike held a super-fan event for Alarm acolytes in his homeland of Wales, called The Gathering. People came from as far as Australie, America and Japan to spend a weekend with Mike and his music, sharing the experience with other fans. I know a bus ran from Glasgow each year. Getting Alexander to Wales was considered a step too far; public transport can be precarious for disabled people and quite literally life or death risk lies in the mundane of delays. Each year Alexander would implore he should go and each year we’d have to quell his appetite. I’m pleased to say that in January of 2023 I drove Alexander in his mobility vehicle to Llandudno, aided and abetted by one of Al’s carers - our family friend and my former babysitter Val. Despite being his brother and someone he’d shared a room with for 20 years, I’d never taken Alexander away before. I’d looked after him many times but never away from home and I’d never even driven him until then. But we managed it and it was a brilliant experience even became part of my fringe show Born in a Wheelchair.
Alexander and I at The Gathering in Wales, 2023.
So when the news came on Tuesday that Mike was gone, it was pretty emotional. He’s been a big character in our lives and the life of Alexander. My sister sent me a video with her daughters in tow, blasting out The Alarm in her kitchen. She too grew up to their music, she too played them for Alexander on countless occasions. Birthday and Christmas presents always revolved around Alarm memorabilia for Alexander. Al got his carers to FaceTime me the over evening and we chatted about the Alarm. We’ll never stop playing the Alarm. Al’s favourite song is Spirit of ‘76, which is the year of his birth. The song came out in 1983 which is the year of mine. My favourite Alarm songs are Rain in the Summertime, Knife Edge and Howling Wind. If you wish to check out anything on YouTube, the one video I would always go for is “Spirit of 86’” which is a live broadcast from UCLA. The opening is, in my opinion, the greatest band opening of all time. Mike holding up a guitar to the crowd wildly strumming the chords. They were the first Welsh band since Tom Jones to crack America. There’s so much more to their story and Mike’s but for now all I’d like to say is “68 Guns will never die”.
Speaking of long delays, I ran the London marathon on Sunday. It was a brilliant yet humbling experience. Despite never having run a marathon before and only having done two half, I fancied myself to get a “good time”. Therein lay the problem, I ended up running it for the wrong reason. I wanted to get a “good time” so I could spitefully enjoy the casual indifference of saying “yeah I ran it in 3.20 first time”. Who I’d be saying this to I don’t know, because these conversations were all in my head. But all of a sudden I saw times and rankings and oneupmanship on the horizon. I did lots of training, I went out with a Saturday run club each week, I did the Battersea half (1.32 FYI) and I genuinely thought I’d cruise to a 3 hour 15/20 marathon time.
The first half I ran in 90 minutes, at an average of 7 mins per mile before both my legs phoned me and said “do you fancy a bit of cramp mate? From mile 14 I had cramp in my hamstrings, my groin, my knees and even my arms. Turns out these marathons are not as easy as you think. Everything doesn’t go to plan. And I had to contend with the mental devastation and distinct possibility of not finishing. In the end I had to run then walk every half mile to stop my legs cramping up. No I didn’t have salt sticks or electrolytes sachets with me. I did go out too fast. I didn’t listen no. I did think I knew it all. I got round the whole thing in 3 hours and 43 minutes and 33 seconds. It was tough. It was humbling. It was wholly deserved.
What I would say is the London Marathon is one of the most spectacular celebrations of the human spirit I’ve ever been part of. There are crowds of people screaming your name, urging you on like a football supporter desperate for a last minute equaliser. It is the best of London. I was ashamed I’d never been to support before. I ran the marathon in aid of Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital, who are still the largest provider of care to children with cancer in the UK. Donations are still open for a couple of weeks yet so if you can spare anything I’ll pop the link below.
Donate to Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital
I’m going back to the Edinburgh Fringe this year to do a full run but most likely for the last time: it’s just too expensive. I’m already sitting at about £7,000 cost before the festival starts. I need to sell 583 tickets just to break even and that’s before I have my lunch each day, have a pint and factor in my train there and back. But, thanks to the support of you lovely people across social media and beyond I think that’s more than achievable. The show is called Jockney Rebel and touches on my life in London, trying to make new friends in your forties along with my love of football, defending the SPL and trying to figure out Gen Z. I hope to see you there and tickets are on sale now.
James Gardner Edinburgh Fringe Tickets
