One of the more memorable gigs of my life was The Pop Group playing the CND rally at Trafalgar Sq, a rain-soaked, Tiger Beer fuelled, dancing in the streets, smash the system kind of gig. It was also the last time they played (until some 35 years later). Gareth Sager, guitarist and co-driver even left his other oppo Mark Stewart on stage before the end (to perform a sublime version of ‘Jerusalem’ that William Blake could never have imagined even in his wildest fever dreams. Stewart grooving along with the core of what would become The Maffia. Sager disappearing into the south Soho night.
A few months later, Sager appeared on the front cover of the NME, fronting the wild beat ensemble ‘Rip, Rig & Panic’. Their first album was a splurge of wild improvisation, studio high jinks, jump ‘n jive rumblings and the sublime, ‘The Blue Blue Third’ piano piece – as if Eric Satie was being played somewhere near General Kurtz’s HQ. It was a remarkable collection and sent me off in search of Charlie Parker, John Coltrane & Pharaoh Sanders. The IPC scribes complained that they couldn’t imagine their postman whistling any of those ‘tunes’.
A few more months pass, a number of Rip, Rig & Panic gigs are attended (featuring a nutty Irish support band who smash their heads with beer trays and are called Pogue Mahone). A new LP is released, presaged by a stunning new 12” single, ”You’re my kind of climate”. It was/is the most joyous of tracks and leaps along with the true spirit of a different freer time. It became a stone-cold party, club, warehouse, discotheque, shebeen, dive bar classic. Even now it reminds me of ripped 501’s, Thunderbird Wine, checked shirts without sleeves, Paloma Picasso red lipstick and a girl with a platinum blonde flat-top…
You're my kind of climate
Swinging lost paradise
Your touch, your smell
Well you can tell
I ain't talking about heaven or hell
You're my kind of climate
Swinging lost paradise
Met a Mexican in the kitchen
Said rule your life by the dice
You've got a crazy disposition
And you always challenge tradition
Better to travel than ever arrive
Being together side by side
Lost in a catacomb loneliness
It's a crime of passion
A deep repression
Legacies whisper in my blood
The heat within rising
You're my kind of climate
Swinging lost paradise
Your touch, your smell
Well you can tell
I ain't talking about heaven or hell
You're my kind of climate
Swinging lost paradise
Met a Mexican in the kitchen
Said rule your life by the dice
I know you've got a butterfly heart
And when you fly we're never apart
Better to travel than ever arrive
Being together side by side
It's a mortal sin to be killed of love
And if it die I won't cry
Lose all fear of the unknown
Never ever worry about being alone
You're my kind of climate
Swinging lost paradise
Your touch, your smell
Well you can tell
I ain't talking about heaven or hell
You're my kind of climate
Swinging lost paradise
Met a Mexican in the kitchen
Said rule your life by the dice.
Words/Music: Sager, Springer, Oliver, Smith
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