Johnny Mard (guitar):
"In some places they used to soak bogroll in water and
chuck it at me.
I really hate that, coz under the lights, it sets really quick.-
there's me about to do me best Scotty Moore lick,
and me fretboard's turned to a paper maché thing off Blue Peter."
The Beater (guitar):
"I used to watch the twats who were chuckin' stuff
and point them out to Nevis. He used to sort em out...
Well, as long as I pointed out the little blokes.
Why did they chuck bits of pig?
Everytime we went near bloody Liverpool- thwack!
I get a pig's cock in me face.
Pigs are filthy animals who eat shit...
No wonder we call them pigs."
"They can chuck what they like. It doesn't hurt, and
you can't see it coming...so- fuck it.
The only thing I wish they wouldn't throw is lager and lime.
Chuck all the piss you like, it all washes off. But lager and lime is
Its like trying to play in mittens.
...Of course I don't know that, coz I've never worn mittens.
Or even seen any. Ever. ....Right?"
"One Xmas gig. Slimy gave us snow sprays and party string.-
You know, - aerosol cans.
He told us to spray them in the air when the Lads played the encore.
There was this little shit down the front winging coins at us all night.
Me and Mungo grabbed him in a headlock.
Mungo forced his gob open, and I filled his mouth with Crazy Christmas
Foam, or whatever it was.
It was fucking great."
"Rass clat inna Babylon. Riddim brudda, respeck."
"No, no, no, no! There is absolutely NO truth in the
that I encouraged the audience to throw their beverages at my boys.
Nor is it true that I signed any deals with the licensees of the venues...
It is true that there were record bar receipts everywhere the
but I received NO cut of the profits whatsoever.
None. It is simple arithmetic.
Our fans bought a pint to drink and one to throw every time they went
to the bar.
And the Liverpool business?
No! That was NOT me selling pig's ears outside the Royal Court.
I know he looked like me, and yes, I do have a cousin who runs
but this evidence is circumstantial."
"I liked it in the van after concerts.
All those sweaty bodies with gooey things stuck to them.
Leather jackets soaked in lots of different types of urine.
I liked to borrow their used teeshirts,
and wring them out into jam jars. Sometimes I'd invite Nigel round...
We'd look at rude pictures of Valerie Singleton and have a really good
"Gigs started getting a bit violent, so I had a word
with the fatties:-
'Whatever those cunts in the audience throw ... DON'T HIT ANYBODY!
Any of you lardboys hits one of the punters, I tell Slimy, and you're
out of a job. OK?'
Needless to say, they farted a lot, then beat me up.
The gig that night had the usual number of cretins down at the front,
gobbing and chucking beer.
One lad was getting squashed against the front of the stage, and was
yelling for help.
He was in a bad way. I bent down to drag him out, and smack!
He twatted me on the nose!
A bit later, he was getting squashed again. - Tough! Suffer, you little
'No! No! Help! I'm really suffering.' He whined.
So I went over to him... And kicked his fucking head off."
'Fast Fret' McCavity (vagrant):
"I liked it when they threw coins.
Once I collected enough for two bottles of meths."
"That smoke bomb at Leeds had to be the worst.
At the end of the album you can hear people shouting: 'Get some fucking
Proper smoke bomb that: - blacked the place out good style.
I couldn't see the end of me belly.
I tried to find the back door to let some air in. Fell off the stage,
crashed through a window and lacerated me arm. Big gash right up the
Slimy told Barrel to get me to hospital quick. It took three hours to
There's loads of chippies in Leeds, you know."
the Hord (pansy):
"I didn't mind what the bastards chucked at us.
I spent all me money on cymbals.
By the time I left, no cunt could see me any road.
I had a 'hedge' of cymbals.
In fact it was a forest, a really big forest. Hundreds I had.
In fact it was a jungle.
Anyway, whatever they chucked at us,
it wasn't half as bad as what we chucked at them.
Me and Beater used to save all our piss
and take it to gigs in bottles.
We had to hide it from Knobby, mind.
The gobbing was fuckin' amazin'.
Like playin' in a blizzard.
I'd be so tired after a gig, I'd crash out the minute I got back.
I'd wake up of a morning, an' me hair's stuck to the pillow.
Big, hard, sticky greenies kind of weld your hair to the pillow
Ee, them were great days."
Stez Styx (inmate):
"Huh? People used to chuck bottles at us? .... Can't
say I've ever noticed."
Projectile Chart Hectic