Keeping the Red Flag flying
Alister Hulett

The hottest summer on record and guess what? No riots; no repeat of Toxteth or Handsworth; Bradford and Burnley an oasis of racial calm. If there is no unrest on our streets what hope is there for chroniclers of political strife? Alistair Hulett is one such chronicler and I decided to turn to him to find out more about a little known moment in British history and if it is possible to draw any parallels with our shiny, early twenty-first century lives. I’ve arranged to telephone Alistair and he is in a jaunty mood as answers my call.

‘Ah, Bill, I knew it would be you. Sorry I took so long to answer the phone but I’m painting my hall. I came back from tour and my partner had painted it Avocado Green; walking down the hall is like being inside a giant frog.’ Even in repose Hulett is an impressive wordsmith.

For the uninitiated, Alistair Hulett’s life-story is an interesting one. As a teenager, singing in the folk clubs of his native Glasgow, he has described himself as ‘Glasgow’s pimpliest Bob Dylan clone’. He was transplanted to New Zealand when his parents emigrated on an assisted passage and fortunately was able to quickly establish himself on the folk circuit as ‘the genuine article – a Scottish kid singing traditional Scottish ballads.’ Two years later, in 1971 at the age of eighteen, thanks to ex-Glaswegian Gordon MacIntyre, he had been persuaded to try his luck on the thriving Australian folk scene.

Success didn’t go to Hulett’s head because after several years he had disappeared from public view and subsequently spent ten years on the hippy trail. When he re-emerged he had re-invented himself as a punk rocker. The Roaring Jacks, a five piece punk folk outfit, provided a platform not only for Hulett’s performance skills but also for his blossoming song writing talents. The band released two albums, Street Celtabillity and The Cat Amongst The Pigeons, played extensively across the major rock venues of Australia and supported major overseas acts such as The Pouges, Billy Bragg and The Men They Couldn’t Hang. The end of The Roaring Jacks came shortly after the release of their third album, The Smoke of Innocence and signalled Hulett’s return to the folk fold. He released a solo album, Dance of the Underclass. Alistair noticed that people were beginning to take notice of him as a songwriter, ‘People more from the mainstream of folk began to do my songs – in a less frenetic style than the Jacks, and a few people recorded them’. A second solo album, recorded with temporary band The Hooligans entitled In the Back Streets of Paradise, was released in 1994. It shocked many fans by signalling a return to the high-octane style of The Roaring Jacks but over the following two years Hulett and the band won over the doubters with scintillating performances at every major folk festival in Australia.

Unbeknown to him, Alistair had also made a famous fan. Hulett had toyed with the idea of asking Dave Swarbrick to join him in the recording studio and a chance telephone call from a friend turned his hope into a reality. The friend had a message from Swarbrick, who at the time was also living in Australia, saying ‘he wouldn’t mind working with the bloke who had written “The Swaggies Have All Waltzed Matilda Away”’. The rest, as they say, is history. By 1996, the duo had returned to Britain and cemented their notoriety with a triumphant performance at the Sidmouth Festival that was broadcast by the BBC and led to a live studio session several weeks later. Comparisons between the Dave Swarbrick/Martin Carthy pairing have been made and Alistair admits that this is understandable enough. ‘If he (Swarbrick) was to play with any guitar player, especially one who plays finger style as I do, then it is an obvious comparison to make.’

By the end of 1998 Hulett and Swarbrick had released two albums together. The first, Saturday Johnny and Jimmy the Rat, had been recorded in Australia and the second, The Cold Grey Light of Dawn in Britain. It contains a song written by Hulett while he was still in Australia. The song, Among Proddy Dogs and Papes, recalls the Glasgow he left behind him. Thirty five years after he first departed he is happily settled back in his home town, enjoying a break from his exertions repainting his hall and ready to talk to me about one of his newest projects Red Clydeside which will be seen in October at the Norwegian Church, Cardiff.

I remind Alistair that the last time he and Swarbrick played Cardiff he had to play the second half of on his own as Swarb had suffered an asthma attack. Hulett remembers it well. ‘Dave had to spend the night in hospital but I’m not expecting lightning to strike twice.’ Indeed, the Red Clydeside project was delayed when Swarbrick was hospitalised in 1999. ‘All the songs were written and we even had a running order for the CD, and we were due to go into the studio before Dave’s illness.’

Swarbrick’s health problems have been well-documented even drawing a glowing obituary in the Daily Telegraph that drew the pithy comment from Swarbrick that he ‘had died in Coventry before’. Alistair says ‘the gigs are not the problem; Dave is playing superbly well. The trouble comes when the toilets or dressing rooms are upstairs and the stage is downstairs. And what of the project itself? ‘We first premiered Red Clydeside at the Celtic Connections Festival in 2002’ says Alistair. ‘I perform songs from it in my solo set, but Red Clydeside is a totally different show.’ The show chronicles a little remembered episode in Glasgow’s history and begins with the Rent Strike of 1915, led by a Govan housewife, which forced the British government to legislate against wartime rent increases. It culminates with as Hulett sees it ‘the largest mobilisation of troops on British soil’ when soldiers and tanks were sent into Glasgow to prevent a full-blown revolution that the government of the day feared could engulf the entire country. At the centre of the conflict was John Maclean, who was jailed twice and released each time due to public protest. ‘When he was released the second time he was very weak and unwell, he had suffered terribly during his imprisonment, but on his release he was taken to speak at what was possibly the largest political meeting ever assembled in this country.’ Even after the government crackdown Maclean was quoted as saying ‘We can turn Glasgow into a Petrograd, a revolutionary storm centre second to none!’

In performance, Red Clydeside includes testimony and draws on John Maclean’s daughter, Nan Milton’s memoirs of her father’s part in the struggle. Hulett jokingly points out that when he speaks Milton’s words, ‘I don’t wear a dress or anything like that.’ This self-deprecation is typical of Hulett, his politics may be left wing but he prefers to be seen in the tradition of politicised performers such as Bert Lloyd, Hamish Henderson and, naturally, Ewan MacColl. Hulett has said of the man ‘he was a huge influence. A lot of people have influenced me, but he would be at the top of the list. I see myself as a Socialist in the Marxist tradition’ Audiences can look forward to Red Clydeside with relish as it showcases Hulett and Swarbrick at the peak of their powers, but is there any relevance for us today? Hulett is adamant that there is. ‘The echoes of the past and their successes and failures help us understand social unrest of the present.’ He cites the Anti-War rally in London as positive proof that people still have the power to protest. Hulett sees significance in the fact that a million people could be mobilised ‘before a shot was fired. ’ Indeed, Hulett is not a soapbox philosopher. When he is not involved in touring, such as his current Shamrock, Thistle and the Rose tour (what no leek!) with Niamh Parsons, Graham Dunn, Nancy Kerr and James Fagin, he can be found doing outreach work in schools or politicising communities through the power of song. He has just been working in Cumbernauld, a huge dormer town between Glasgow and Edinburgh. Alistair animatedly tells me about a dispute that is taking place there. ‘The local council is trying to push through a housing stock transfer system. Quite a few houses were built in Bison Block and are falling apart. The council are trying to re-house them but with no compensation. The houses that they might have bought are worthless and will have to come down. Some people might end up thousands of pounds out of pocket.’ Hulett and a group of local residents met and have written a protest song about the problem. ‘We’ve posted it on the Centre for Political Song website’ he tells me. When I enquire what exactly this is, Alistair points me in the direction of the website and explains that it is a University of Caledonia initiative where people can post their songs. It also has an extensive archive and history section where anybody interested in political song can browse. I’ve looked at it and it is a fascinating site that reaffirms that political song writing is alive and well and reminds one that this genre is a cornerstone of the folk canon.

I ask Alistair if he is hopeful for the future. He is. He sees the Anti-War, Anti-Capitalism and Anti-Globalisation demonstrations as ‘the early stages of a movement that will come to haunt the likes of Tony Blair and George Bush’. But surely Blair was instrumental in giving Scotland its own parliament? ‘Oh aye’ says Hulett ‘ but all we’ve got at the moment is a foul odour.’ He does sees a delicious irony in the fact that although devolution might have been a sop, ‘once you’ve given the people a little they will demand more and more from their leaders. That gives me hope.’ There is no doubt that Alistair Hulett is a fascinating character. Not only has he had a widely varied career to date, he has also had his songs covered by the likes Roy Bailey, Andy Irvine and June Tabor. He also continues to develop as an artist like a slowly maturing malt whisky. His partnership with Dave Swarbrick delights audiences wherever they play and he manages all this without losing sight of his social conscience. Although he is not alone as chronicler of our social history Hulett has the auora of the real article. In addition to Red Clydeside he has written and performed two other presentations From Blackheath to Trafalgar Square, looks at ‘insurrection and resistance in the Disunited Kingdom’ from the peasants revolt to the Poll Tax Riots and The Fire Last Time is a study of the protest song movement of the sixties. His Glasgow is a different place to the one that he left as a teenager, in an article for Living Tradition magazine he admitted that he had always thought that ‘the buildings (of Glasgow) were made out of black stone, but they’ve been cleaned, and everywhere now is this beautiful blonde and red sandstone, I didn’t even know it was there!’ What he is aware of are the ‘echoes of the past’ that haunt and shape all of our futures, he may have been playing music professionally for thirty five years now but Hulett is still a relatively young man and it is our gain that he is as committed as he has ever been. As we wind up our telephone conversation Alistair asks me to impress on would-be audience members that Red Clydeside is not a normal Hulett/Swarbrick gig. ‘It’s an entity’ he says. It would be surprising, in Wales at least, given our own history of social struggle, if anybody considering attending would be put off by Hulett’s assertion. Rather it is a ringing endorsement of a serious artist who treats his audience as equals. Reluctantly, I say my goodbyes; it does the spirit good to talk to someone of Alistair Hulett’s conviction. He might never find himself in-vogue but you can be certain that he will never sell out unless it is at one of his concerts. It is time for Hulett to pick up his paintbrush again and continue eradicating the memory of an Avocado Green hallway. What colour will he replace it with I wonder. Red? ‘Oh no, white. The flat is white throughout’ confesses Alistair.

• Red Clydeside featuring Alistair Hulett and Dave Swarbrick can be seen at the Norwegian Church Arts Centre, Cardiff on Thursday 30th October at 8.00pm. Tickets can be booked in advance on 0870 013 1812.

• Red Clydeside – the audio/visual CD available from Red Rattler Records (RATCD005).

• The University of Caledonia’s Centre for Political Song website can be found at:http://polsong.gcal.ac.uk

Anyone here seen Kellie?
Kellie While

A couple of months ago my editor at Taplas, Keith Hudson, asked me to review Kellie While’s new album Tenacious.

“You’ll have to wait a bit” he warned, “her P.R. Company have sent me the c.d. for review but unfortunately there wasn’t a c.d. in the case.” I did wait and a week later I was in possession of a promotional copy of the album.

Until this time my knowledge of Kellie While was limited. I knew that she was the daughter of the legendary folk/roots singer-songwriter Chris While, that she had inherited her mother’s position as lead singer with The Albion Band and that she was also fronting the newly branded E2K (formerly Edward II). The few times that I had heard her sing on disc had alerted me to a good voice but nothing had prepared me for the quality of her debut solo album. I waxed lyrical about it and ended my review by suggesting that this was an album – “to be bought, played relentlessly and cherished”.

I had also made up my mind that this was somebody that I wanted to interview.

I didn’t have a contact address for Kellie so I visited her website, gleaned a little more information about her, and left a message on her notice board asking if it would be possible to interview her. I heard nothing. A few weeks later Keith Hudson informed me that Kellie would be playing a gig in Bristol later in the year. I visited Kellie’s website again, more in hope than anticipation, and posted another message. Kellie’s e-mail reply came from Ghana where she was holidaying. Apologies for not replying earlier, but best of all, “I will gladly do an interview either on the day of the gig in person or beforehand by telephone – whichever is best for you. You can reach me on ***** ****** anytime after I get home.”

Brilliant; I had clinched the interview. I arranged to contact her nearer the gig to confirm timings. A month passed and it was time to firm up our meeting. I e-mailed Kellie again thanking her for her mobile number and asked when might be a good time to contact her. My review of Tenacious had been published and I wondered if she had received a copy of it. Four days later Kellie got in touch again. “Call anytime to arrange the interview. I’ve also declined a radio Bristol thing on that day so we should have plenty of time.

Thanks for the great review, I’m happy you enjoyed the album.”

Cancelling a radio interview to talk exclusively to Taplas, things were getting better and better.

In my professional life I am a media mongrel and as if to prove that the Law of Sod was alive and well, fate threw a huge spanner into the works and the day after I left a message on Kellie’s answerphone I landed a part on a major BBC drama series called Magistrates and my filming schedule clashed with the date of the gig. To make matters worse Kellie hadn’t replied to my phone call.

It’s not enough to say It’ll all be ok ‘cause it might just go pear-shaped.
Kellie sang to me the next time I listened to her album. The track entitled Making a Mess of It suddenly seemed strangely apposite. A few nights later I was having a pint in my local and Keith appeared, “You’ll never guess who I’ve just been talking to on the phone.”
“Who?”
“Kellie While. She deleted your message and phoned me to get your home number.”
At ten o’clock the following morning I received a phone call. It was Kellie. She was remarkably chipper for the time of day and her cheerful northern tones soon had me hanging on her every word. I apologised for messing her about over the exact time of the interview. Could we possibly do it after the gig? Kellie told me it shouldn’t present a problem as she was staying in Bristol that night before setting off for Burnley the next day for an E2K gig.

“I hear that you gave the Albion Band Album a bad review,” she said suddenly. I was crestfallen. The review had been out less than a week; here was a lady with her finger on the pulse.
“You come out of it alright, I just say that you are ubiquitous.”
“What does that mean?” She chided me.
“It means that you are everywhere. Three albums out in three months, that’s some going.” I had redeemed myself and for the rest of the phone call Kellie regaled me with scurrilous stories of folk/roots politics and even asked my advice.
“Should I do this radio interview thing? I don’t really want to do it.”
“Don’t do if you don’t want to. Blame me for messing up your schedule.”
Thankfully, when I got the call sheet for my episode of Magistrates it was clear that I would wrap on set at seven o’clock. We were filming in Newport and Bristol was only a forty-five minute drive away.

I finished my twelve hours on set and made it to Bristol by eight o’clock. The Albert Hole Folk Club, where Kellie was playing, is a cheery place and about sixty knowledgeable aficionados were crammed into the small music room. Kellie crept in about halfway through the support set; I introduced myself – three months after sending the first e-mail we had finally met.

Pony-tailed, fit and relaxed she shook my hand and thanked me for coming to the gig. The pleasure was all mine as Kellie played two forty-five minute sets showcasing Tenacious, as well as finding time to cover songs by Billy Joel and her mother. Her set finished just as last orders were rung and well-wishers immediately surrounded her. Sales of her album were brisk as the audience filed out of the pub; finally we were ready to do the interview.

Kellie told me that she had recently moved to Essex. Did that mean that she was now an ‘Essex Girl’?
“Hardly” she replied. It would be difficult to imagine Kellie tearing down Hornchurch High Street in her XR3i complete with ‘Kellie’ and ‘Kwame’ sun visor.
“I’m a Northern lass.” Born in Barrow-in-Furness, with stops in Bury and finally Southport along the way. I wondered if her childhood was a normal one.
“I thought it was normal to be loaded into the camper van for a festival with a Fender Rhodes on my lap.” It was a musical family. “My mum says that she sung to me in the womb, so I can honestly say that I’ve been surrounded by music for as long as I can remember.” Kellie rolls herself a cigarette as she listens to my questions and answers with disarming honesty. She lists her first instrument as a piano, which gave her grounding in chord structures, but soon progressed to guitar thankful for the hand-me-down instruments that she inherited. By the age of fourteen she had joined the Sefton Youth Jazz Orchestra as lead vocalist. Whilst on tour to the first International Jazz Festival in Masstricht she was invited onto stage by the late, great Betty Carter.
“She asked me to sing through the changes with her”, remembers Kellie doing a self-deprecating version of scat. Laughing, she admits, “I most probably wouldn’t have the confidence to do it now.”
She did have the confidence to join forces with childhood friend Sarah Howard and together they worked as a duo on the Folk Club circuit. Did this mean that her studies suffered?
“Not really. I got pretty much straight ‘A’s.” Kellie remembers, she admits that revision wasn’t high on her agenda. Push came to shove when she went to college.
“I kept thinking how is this going to help me do what I want to do.” She gave up her studies and went to work at Andy’s records, gigging when she could. She remembers her time at the record store with affection and admits, “I wouldn’t have ever got into Ron Sexsmith if I hadn’t worked there.” She includes a Sexsmith cover on her album, the glorious Riverbed. Her personal taste in music is eclectic; if she is driving to a gig,
“I can listen to three James Taylor albums one after the other.” She can’t wait to buy the new Shawn Colvin album and likes the late Eva Cassidy little realising that if her version of Jimmy Campbell’s beautiful In my Room was afforded the same drip, drip airplay as Cassidy’s Somewhere over the Rainbow she would have an enormous hit on her hands as well as being a heroine for thousands of students in bedsits all over the country.

Kellie likes the idea of being perceived as a singer/songwriter in her own right. Does that mean that we will be seeing the Kellie While Band in the not too distant future?

“I certainly hope so”, replies Kellie positively. For the present though, she is happy to be fronting E2K and The Albion Band.
“I might try and blag a solo gig when we play the Sidmouth Festival”, she says. I return to her album. Is there a possibility that she might fill the void left by Kirsty McColl I wonder? Kellie is too modest to even contemplate this. For her songwriting is a personal pursuit with the melody uppermost.
“I can’t say that the words come first or the tune comes first. Every song is different. But for me, a good melody is the most important thing.”

We’ve been talking for over an hour and Kellie hasn’t shown the slightest interest in being anywhere else. We say our goodbyes and I leave Bristol in the small hours ready for another early call on set in the morning. Meeting Kellie I can see why her mother used to call her “a tenacious girl”. She has managed to produce an album of outstanding quality on her own label, it might have taken her three months to get a distribution deal but she managed it. Not one to crow she will be well satisfied to get one back on the personal manager who encouraged her to work in a music house for a year.
“They told me that I should write more like Peter Gabriel. I pretty much wasted a year of my life really.”
Precocious in the best sense of the word, one gets the feeling that Kellie won’t be wasting too many more years of her life.
Has anyone here seen Kellie? If you haven’t, treat yourself and see her in one of her manifestations over the coming months. It took me three months to catch up with her and I can’t wait to do it again.

• Kellie’s solo album Tenacious is available on Mother Records (mumcd101)

• Hear her on E2K’s album – Shift. Topic Records (TSCD522)

• Hear her on The Albion Band’s album – Road Movies. Topic Records (TSC523)