Record Play Pause: Confessions of a Post-Punk Percussionist: Volume 1 – Stephen Morris. Signed Copies up for Grabs…

Stephen Morris has become synonymous with drumming in Post Punk band Joy Division and Electronic pioneers New Order, in fact some say he isn’t actually human but he is actually a drum machine…

Steve has eclectic tastes, some might say eccentric, I mean who has a Cyberman and a Dalek in their home studio?….

Or a bunch of military vehicles in his barn?…

Some even say geeky….

For the first time Stephen Morris pens HIS memoir, the others have done it, Bernard and Peter have already done theirs but this is the one we have all been waiting for…

As some of you may already know Steve has embarked on a book signing tour across the uk which has had great success.
A couple have already been done with a few more to come, details below:

May 9th – Manchester, Dancehouse*:
May 13th – Liverpool, British Music Experience*:
May 17th – Hebden, Trades Club*/:
May 22nd – London, The Social^: SOLD OUT
May 23rd – Glasgow, Mitchell Theatre:
July 17th – Bath, Christ Church:
* Interviewed by Dave Haslam
/ DJ Set from Stephen
^Unknown Pleasures Playback

For those who have yet been unable to make the dates, or may not be able to get their hands on a signed copy, have teamed up with publishers Constable to give people a chance of winning a signed copy.

The competition is available worldwide (p&p charges apply) and there are five books up for grabs!

The competition question is as follows:

What is Stephen Morris’s Middle Name?

The competition runs until Saturday the 15th Of June and winners will be notified by email shortly after

For those who aren’t lucky to win one of the signed books from the competition then they are still available from Amazon on the following link:

Here’s also a “sneek peak” of what to expect in the book…

My plans to become a drummer hadn’t exactly set the world on fire either. I’d borrowed a pair of sticks (which allegedly used to belong to Woody Woodmansey from the Spiders from Mars), bought the Gene Krupa Drum Method book – which almost made sense – and was tapping away on the settee in the hope I would get taken seriously. I trawled through the Manchester Evening News classifieds and the small ads in Melody Maker and Sounds, hoping to find some drums in my price range – free to ridiculously cheap – but they all seemed a bit on the expensive side.
I’d started paying even more attention to the drumming on records and at gigs. I’d seen Buddy Rich on TV – the greatest drummer in the world, they said. I thought he was just an arrogant show-off. He sounded like an angry man urgently rolling a barrel full of marbles down a never-ending flight of stairs. There was no way I was going to be doing any of that stuff. Besides, it looked too much like hard work. No, to me the most interesting drummers were the ones who kept it simple like Jaki Liebezeit or Moe Tucker. I didn’t like the showing-off thing. Even back then, I figured the drummer’s job was to hold the band together, not to stand out. It’s a thankless task but someone’s got to do it.
My mother was still laughing sceptically at my plans for a career in ‘music’.
‘You? In a band? You couldn’t say boo to a goose! You’d be home in no time. You never wear that nice check shirt I bought you . . .’
My father wasn’t impressed with my new choice of instrument either.
‘Drummers, Stephen, I’ve never met a sane one yet. They all end up taking morphine and drinking absinthe, rotting their brains. You don’t want to end up like that, do you?’
‘No,’ I lied, ‘but it’s all different nowadays,’ hoping he had forgotten the Hawkwind gig, which he hadn’t. I wheedled and I cajoled, I wouldn’t give it a rest. I told him I was saving up and I’d even started selling off some naffish records to raise a bit of cash. (These naff records were a result of me misunderstanding the terms of the Britannia Music Club. I had been lured into membership by the opening offer of free albums, and expected our relationship to remain on those terms for the rest of time. But they started sending me shit ones that I was expected to pay for every month. Always read the small print.)
As part of the deal to accomplish my percussion purchase, I found it best that I keep my end of the gig deal and show an interest in my father’s musical heritage. I had still not been forgiven for Hawkwind.
Keeping my end of the bargain, I was taken by my father, twice, to the Southport Floral Hall (quite a journey from Macclesfield; well, it was with my Dad driving). First it was to see Count Basie and His Orchestra, and then a few weeks later Marlene Dietrich. Count Basie was all right, a lot better than I expected, to be honest, but I really thought Marlene Dietrich was fantastic. She was getting on a bit but she still had that charisma. A pre-war Berlin decadent chanteuse vibe, all in gold lamé and top hat and tails. A kind of Nico for the old folks. She was undeniably a star that refused to fade, transcending the showbiz cliché shit.
I had to admit to Cliff that I had enjoyed both gigs more than I expected, but especially Marlene’s.
I love that quote of hers: ‘Do you think this is glamorous? That it’s a great life and that I do it for my health? Well it isn’t. Maybe once, but not now.’

I’d only wish i’d read it sooner..


Best of luck!

Steve Competition!