Mark E Smith

I shared this tale on the Los Angeles supporter’s club FB page, a few weeks ago.
I think it might be of interest to other Fall fans, who are blues.

Mark Edward Smith (5 March 1957 – 24 January 2018)

During my Yelloway's Coach away days following Manchester City in the 80's, amongst the regular motley crew of Langley/Middleton beer monsters and teenage scallies was a bespectacled Stephen Morris look-alike from Crumpsall, strangely enough called Steve.
I have no idea what his surname was, it's not really important.
Anyway, back in 1982, Steve would bring his Walkman with him on our travels and would occasionally let me have a listen. This was when I heard The Fall for the first time. Steve was a bit of a trenchcoat wearing student wanker, but he was a good lad and I owe him a a debt of gratitude for introducing me to Prestwich's finest.
The Fall were like no other band I had ever heard at the time, and still never have to this day.
The Fall were very different, very strange and fucking hilarious.
People who don't love The Fall usually hate them, but if Johnny Marr is a God to me, then Mark E. Smith is definitely Jesus.
Fast forward a few years and in 2006 I’m in Pomona to watch The Fall play at The Glass House, with my American friend Chris.
We were there pretty early, so walked around Pomona for a mooch.
We walk past a music store and there’s Mark and his wife Eleni, we walk by deciding not to bother them and head off to a nearby Mexican bar.
We have something to eat and have a couple of beers, then start playing pool.
At some point Mark and Eleni walk in and sit down to eat in the restaurant, again, we leave them alone.
After a while Mark approached me in the bar and asks if I have a light.
“Sorry Mark, I don’t smoke”
He seems a bit taken aback by being recognised and hearing a Mancunian accent in Pomona, but then he asks “Where are you from, why are you here?”
“For the gig”
Then I ask him if he wants a drink, of course he does, he’s Mark E. Smith.
He call Eleni over, we chat about music, Manchester, about City, about the upcoming World Cup.
Mark ponders why Sven picked the then unknown Theo Walcott and left Jermaine Defoe out of the squad.
“He’s up to something Andy, that Sven’s a ****”
I nodded and agreed.
Me and Chris played a couple of games of pool against Mark and his Missus, winning both.
Now I’m a pretty mediocre player, slightly better than Chris, but Mark was shite. Which is strange, because in his book he claimed to be a pool hustler.
Anyway, Mark pulls me to one side and says, “Let’s mix things up a bit Andy”
“What d’ya mean Mark?” I asked.
“Well you know, me and you against Eleni and the Yank, like”
So we did, and me and Mark beat Eleni and the Yank.
There are the stories of Mark being a dictator and a bit of an arsehole at times and they’re probably true, but on this particular night, Mark and Eleni, couldn’t have been any nicer.
It remains one of my fondest gig going experiences.
Anyway onto the gig, the band come out, Eleni spots us in the crowd, gives us a little wave and a smile.
Mark comes onto the stage, scans the crowd, sees us, gives us that thousand yard stare as he looks right through us, with not a flicker of recognition, brilliant.
There was another gig in 1993 that stood out for me.
They played at the Roxy in Hollywood and it was one of those rare occasions that they had a proper tour bus, instead of a van.
Prior to the gig this massive bus was parked in the front of the venue.
While waiting for the Roxy to open their doors, up marches Courtney Love, who then starts banging on the tour bus door.
After a minute a roadie opens it and is engaged in a heated exchange with her.
A shout comes from the back of the bus and it’s unmistakably Mark E Smith.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Mark” says the roadie, “it’s Courtney Love and she wants to come onto the bus, to say hello”
There was a brief pause, until Mark shouts back, “Err, tell her to fuck off”
And with that, Courtney’s head visibly dropped and she skulked off into the night, much to everyone’s amusement.

Mark E. Smith was a massive blue and Sunday is the third anniversary of his passing.
You may or may not have heard of, or like The Fall, but for me personally, music and football are intertwined.
So whenever one of my idols is a blue, it’s a perfect combination.
Mark E. Smith, Ian Curtis, Johnny Marr, Mark Burgess and even the likes of 10cc, Oasis, Doves and so on.

Thanks for indulging me.492F7F81-D39B-4C4E-AD35-0A9E49AAC50F.jpeg
 
Hollywood Blue said:
I shared this tale on the Los Angeles supporter’s club FB page, a few weeks ago.
I think it might be of interest to other Fall fans, who are blues.

Mark Edward Smith (5 March 1957 – 24 January 2018)

During my Yelloway's Coach away days following Manchester City in the 80's, amongst the regular motley crew of Langley/Middleton beer monsters and teenage scallies was a bespectacled Stephen Morris look-alike from Crumpsall, strangely enough called Steve.
I have no idea what his surname was, it's not really important.
Anyway, back in 1982, Steve would bring his Walkman with him on our travels and would occasionally let me have a listen. This was when I heard The Fall for the first time. Steve was a bit of a trenchcoat wearing student wanker, but he was a good lad and I owe him a a debt of gratitude for introducing me to Prestwich's finest.
The Fall were like no other band I had ever heard at the time, and still never have to this day.
The Fall were very different, very strange and fucking hilarious.
People who don't love The Fall usually hate them, but if Johnny Marr is a God to me, then Mark E. Smith is definitely Jesus.
Fast forward a few years and in 2006 I’m in Pomona to watch The Fall play at The Glass House, with my American friend Chris.
We were there pretty early, so walked around Pomona for a mooch.
We walk past a music store and there’s Mark and his wife Eleni, we walk by deciding not to bother them and head off to a nearby Mexican bar.
We have something to eat and have a couple of beers, then start playing pool.
At some point Mark and Eleni walk in and sit down to eat in the restaurant, again, we leave them alone.
After a while Mark approached me in the bar and asks if I have a light.
“Sorry Mark, I don’t smoke”
He seems a bit taken aback by being recognised and hearing a Mancunian accent in Pomona, but then he asks “Where are you from, why are you here?”
“For the gig”
Then I ask him if he wants a drink, of course he does, he’s Mark E. Smith.
He call Eleni over, we chat about music, Manchester, about City, about the upcoming World Cup.
Mark ponders why Sven picked the then unknown Theo Walcott and left Jermaine Defoe out of the squad.
“He’s up to something Andy, that Sven’s a ****”
I nodded and agreed.
Me and Chris played a couple of games of pool against Mark and his Missus, winning both.
Now I’m a pretty mediocre player, slightly better than Chris, but Mark was shite. Which is strange, because in his book he claimed to be a pool hustler.
Anyway, Mark pulls me to one side and says, “Let’s mix things up a bit Andy”
“What d’ya mean Mark?” I asked.
“Well you know, me and you against Eleni and the Yank, like”
So we did, and me and Mark beat Eleni and the Yank.
There are the stories of Mark being a dictator and a bit of an arsehole at times and they’re probably true, but on this particular night, Mark and Eleni, couldn’t have been any nicer.
It remains one of my fondest gig going experiences.
Anyway onto the gig, the band come out, Eleni spots us in the crowd, gives us a little wave and a smile.
Mark comes onto the stage, scans the crowd, sees us, gives us that thousand yard stare as he looks right through us, with not a flicker of recognition, brilliant.
There was another gig in 1993 that stood out for me.
They played at the Roxy in Hollywood and it was one of those rare occasions that they had a proper tour bus, instead of a van.
Prior to the gig this massive bus was parked in the front of the venue.
While waiting for the Roxy to open their doors, up marches Courtney Love, who then starts banging on the tour bus door.
After a minute a roadie opens it and is engaged in a heated exchange with her.
A shout comes from the back of the bus and it’s unmistakably Mark E Smith.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Mark” says the roadie, “it’s Courtney Love and she wants to come onto the bus, to say hello”
There was a brief pause, until Mark shouts back, “Err, tell her to fuck off”
And with that, Courtney’s head visibly dropped and she skulked off into the night, much to everyone’s amusement.

Mark E. Smith was a massive blue and Sunday is the third anniversary of his passing.
You may or may not have heard of, or like The Fall, but for me personally, music and football are intertwined.
So whenever one of my idols is a blue, it’s a perfect combination.
Mark E. Smith, Ian Curtis, Johnny Marr, Mark Burgess and even the likes of 10cc, Oasis, Doves and so on.

Thanks for indulging me.View attachment 12667
Click to expand...
Superb! Fabulous memories and stories there HB - the Courtney Love response is piss funny! :)
 
roman totale said:
I can’t quite see how people have been getting upset by this. Yeah, the house is a state, but did anyone really think he lived in a palace, or that material possessions were that important to him? I do agree that it should have a blue plaque at some point in the not-too-distant future though.
Click to expand...
My old mate Colin Green who I went to Salford Tech with in the 70's lives next door
He's a rag, but has some very funny stories about his former neighbour
 
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