Regardless of what side of the Atlantic you’re currently perched on, spend any time in the company of music geeks of a certain age, and sooner or later, you’re bound to get caught up in the age-old, laborious and eye-roll-inducing debate about the true point of origin of Punk Rock. Yanks like m’self will calmly point to iconoclasts like the Velvet Underground, the Modern Lovers, the MC5, the Stooges, the Ramones and the New York Dolls, usually qualifying the latter with the irrefutable bit of minutia that future svengali Malcolm McLaren briefly attempted to manage them in their death throes as a band (the infamous “red patent leather” era) and that when he returned to England, endeavored to graft the look and sound of New York City’s burgeoning Punk scene (specifically Richard Hell’s tonsorial/sartorial aesthetic and his signature anthem “Blank Generation”) onto the tabula rasa of the fledgling Sex Pistols.
If you’re of the British persuasion, you’ll usually click your tongue and wearily point to the seismic differences in theme, sound and aesthetic between New York’s more artsy contingent and Britain’s more volatile wellspring of anti-establishmentarianism. It’s poetry vs. politics, they’ll say. There is indeed some validity to that point, but all it takes is one rafter-shaking barre chord from Johnny Ramone — the sound that launched a thousand bands on both sides of the water — to truly settle the debate.
In all honesty, though, it’s really not all that cut and dry. While it can be argued that England’s take on the phenomenon was hugely informed by New York, the UK had its own class of proto-punk ensembles that were just as influential as the afore-cited Yank bands listed above. Foremost among those outfits was rollicking pub-rock band, Dr. Feelgood. Practicing an amped-up blend of rhythm & blues marked by the rough-hewn, self-taught guitar theatrics of bug-eyed Wilco Johnson and the gruff, confrontational delivery of vocalist Lee Brilleaux, Dr. Feelgood not only paved the way for Brit bands like The Clash, The Stranglers and Gang of Four, but none other than New York punk architect Richard Hell himself admitted to being a huge fan of Dr. Feelgood’s records in Julien Temple’s amazing documentary, “Oil City Confidential.” “We stared New York in the face,” exclaims Jonnson in same about Dr. Feelgood’s brief visit to the U.S. (a market they’d never crack), suggesting that the streams of influence may have flowed in both directions.
There is another such band, however, that, of late, I’ve kind of become sort of obsessed with, much as I’d done with Dr. Feelgood a few short years ago, although — by comparison — this band is even less well-known here in the States, and finding their incredibly rare albums plays right into my penchant for latching onto things the are hard to put one’s hand to.
The band in question is The Sensational Alex Harvey Band.
While ostensibly grim Glasgow’s answer to early `70s glam rock, there was actually precious little that was actively “glamorous" about the so-called "SAHB.” A bedraggled gaggle of hirsute, unshaven pirates, Harvey’s ensemble featured a burly bassist with a robust mullet and a penchant for wearing codpieces onstage, as well as a guitarist named Zal Cleminson who inexplicably dressed like a mime… as you do, I guess. Harvey himself, meanwhile, looked like the sort of gap-toothed fellow who’d gladly introduce your unsuspecting teeth to his bruised knuckles for daring to occupy his stool at his favorite pub. The Bay City Rollers they weren’t.
I first heard of the Sensational Alex Harvey Band when they were name-checked as a primary influence on my favorite band, Killing Joke, who used to use the SAHB’s peculiar instrumental track, “Booids,” as their walk-on music. I managed, several years back, to track down the album that song was on (that being their final 1978 album, Rock Drill, for those of you playing along at home), but it featured none of Harvey & Co.’s more "well-known” songs, which is a generous descriptor indeed.
If the Sensational Alex Harvey Band had a signature track, it’s inevitably “Faith Healer” from their 1974 record, Next, which isn’t particularly catchy or hook-laden, much less easy to describe. Here it is now…
If you’re listening to the Killing Joke correlation, you might notice the oscillating tone that starts the track being strikingly similar to the opening ominous synths of the Joke’s “Requiem.” Also, Zal Cleminson’s chugging guitar definitely informed Geordie’s style, particularly on the Joke’s “Are You Receiving?" Beyond this track, however, I’ve been starting to delve further into Harvey’s music, warming to songs like “Midnight Moses,” “Action Strasse” and oddball covers of Tom Jone’s “Delilah,” Jacques Brel’s “Next,” Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” and … err… “Crazy Horses” by the Osmonds.
For a little further historical context, it’s also worth noting that The Sensational Alex Harvey Band were allegedly a huge influence on AC/DC, particularly fellow Scotsman Bon Scott. It’s not hard to draw a correlation between the two bands, both boasting leering-lad frontmen and disarmingly kinetic guitarists.
In short order, I became hungry and curious to hear more. As such, I’ve been intent on hunting down further bits of their discography. And, to be clear, by that I mean obtaining the physical manifestations of their music, not just listening to it on shitty Spotify and/or YouTube. I want to own the albums, read the liner notes, check out the cover art and file them alongside my other discs.
The trouble there, however, is that albums by the Sensational Alex Harvey Band — led by a hard-drinkin’ Scotsman who passed away from heart failure at age 47 — ain’t exactly easy to turn up. As an ancillary problem, I’m also generally more inclined to buy my music in brick-and-mortar stores than order it online. I mean, I certainly do when no other options are open to me, but I’d rather give some independent shop my money than go through fucking Amazon. You can call me old fashioned and go fuck yourself, while you’re at it.
Anyway, to wrap all this up, in the paltry few remaining record and disc shops left in New York City, I was unable to put my hand to any albums by the SAHB. As far as the New York City of 2020 is concerned, it seems the Sensational Alex Harvey Band simply did not exist. No one knows their songs, much less their name. With that, I’ve indeed had to turn reluctantly to the internet to sate my needs.
In any case, while I heartily endorse seeking out this music yourselves, procuring further records by the Sensational Alex Harvey band has prompted a burning question … one best addressed by OCD record hoarders and pedantic music geeks…
Would you file The Sensational Alex Harvey Band under S ... or H?
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