Doors yet to open, we engage in a lucid exchange of conversation with a number of punkily-regaled floor-sitters. The gist of this confabulation enlightened us to the fact that the night's attraction, Flux Of Pink lndians, have yet to arrive and furthermore had failed to show completely for two previous engagements in this fair town.

Any attempts to establish a telephone linkage with the Fluxed ones for the past week had proved futile. Now, in short, they weren't expecting us and we were expecting them not to show. Fearing the worst, we retired to the most modest of billets for a prolonged and painful session of lip biting.

A return to the hostelry was happily more fruitful. A doorman gleefully informs us of the artistes’ arrival. Minutes later my grubby palm is shaking the twanging hand of Flux bass Person Derek. I humbly beg for an interview. The man hesitates, then utters:

“We don't want an interview like the usual ones in Sounds. None of this 'Derek said', 'Colin said' stuff. We’d like to sit and chat and then you can go away and do what you want to do. By that time you should have an inkling of an idea of what we're about... or at least be fairly confused.”

Well, I'm easy and always open to confusion. What follows is a collection of unattributed quotes although Derek and Colin (the singer) did most of the talking, two inter-group arguments were candidly captured without guidance by my cunning cassette machine, plus some of my usual stunning insights into the chaotic minds of youthful popsters. Hold tight...

To continue reading this article and to discover many more (over 140,000 words-worth!), purchase Mick Sinclair’s Adjusting the Stars: Music journalism from post-punk London.