Chris J P Smith guitarist in Stone Dome Band 1980. Photo courtesy of Chris J P Smith. Photo restoration David Richardson
Stone Dome Band 1980
Derek Dick Vocals
Chris J P Smith Guitars
Diz Minnitt Bass
Steve Kemp Drums
Steve Proctor Keyboards
After the break up of Stone Dome Band, Diz and Derek (Fish) began to reevaluate their musical careers, they moved to Ettrick Bridge where they worked on songs and recorded some demos which got them the job in Marillion in December 1980.
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The Stone Dome Band 1980 by Chris J. P. Smith (Guitarist in Stone Dome Band)
I'm trying to recall how I was drawn into the band thing. A blue van with ‘Plastic Surjun’ painted on the side arrived – presumably seeking Mark Blagg.. My little brother called them, the Hair Bear Bunch. Veterans of the Stonehenge free festival. It was the mobile portal and Diz was the Ferryman.
I think Diz must have liked driving, he never complained. Much later we all spent at least one night in the sweat beaded van somewhere in Derbyshire, on a quest for stone circles and beer. All good fun and even better to be back at Minnitt Towers, hot showers, Steve Kemp doing donkey impressions from an upper window, Tiswas, food, Diz playing us a tape of his younger self in space pilot mode.
Trips to Minnitt’s Mill were some vital focus for it all. I knew Laneham well. The red brick village, the river’s edge, the floods, flat fields,an almost 19th century quiet, which you loved or hated and needed to escape from. Diz lived with his parents in the ‘Breather’ haunted family pile. I knew him from the Retford Grammar School. We were lucky to have the Mill to practise in. It was such an interesting environment – all mysterious machinery, dust, sacks, pallets and beams, and chill cold. The foreman Bob lived in an adjacent house. Extremely likeable, King of the unsmiling sarcasm, implacably direct. One night he called in, said, ‘right, that’s it! Get packed up and clear off!’ He watched us stow away the gear, then grinning said, ‘OK, you can carry on now.’ That was his best joke. Maybe the levels had been too loud. We went to the pub. We only ever had local complaints when we dragged all the equipment into the Mill loft and made a racket.
By then I had some equipment: a junk shop Kasuga Strat copy, and a couple of pedals, but no really effective amp. I think I played through Diz’s on trend Orange amp. There were two drummers, Pete Catley and Steve Kemp. Pete’s drums used to fall apart. Steve was a powerhouse, thunderous and he occasionally sang. Singers came and went. Mr Dave Franks, who wanted to meet Brass in Pocket Chrissie Hynde, Mark Blagg who produced no lyrics. I think Mark wanted to be David Bowie. I don't think Diz sang - I know I didn't. Diz was plagued by one string on his bass, resting on a matchstick which popped out when he played. His bass playing morphed quickly into lightning fast intros and punchy solid lines. In the beginning we had a sort of ska flavour, essentially rhythmical short songs. Sore fingers.
One evening Pete brought along a girl called Gill. She had altered from gentle hippy chick to crop-haired, leather jacketed, kohl-eyed punk. Fresh from London, having spent time with the Sex Pistols. He exited the band soon after that. The remaining drummer, Steve Kemp, wrote Gothic and political effusions and could sing them as he played his drums. Songs with titles like, ‘Americaneer’ - and poetry needing music, such as ‘Jonathan lives adjacent to the graveyard.’ He also sang any old crap to jammed tunes, which was very funny, as my recordings show. So, chack-chack-chack guitar, drum thunder, dugadug bass, dust in pedals and on amps and drum kit – then the inevitable pubbing. The Butchers Arms, The Ferryboat (once), The Eyre Arms, The Elms. The Elms was full of its own genteel aspirations, and the landlady, nice though she was, did not really want us there. A few of us had black leather jackets, and green and yellow dyed hair. One night some drunk actually kicked Dave who was sitting peacefully on the floor, then went on to threaten Ian Rowntree whom we had acquired as ‘manager’ for the band, who had foolishly (using his 60s hip lexicon) asked him to ‘calm down baby.’ Ian was keen to avoid a glass in the face. We reassembled at a table, and were entertained by local students climbing the hotel stairs and stealing toilet paper. We only wanted a drink.
I have no idea when Ian Rowntree acceded to managerial status. He worked for the Servis washing machine company, he had a place in one of the villages, Rampton, and the band spent many evenings there playing billiards round an undersized table, eating his food and boozing. He had two old growly Alsatians which he once took with him to the Butchers pub because the local bikers didn't approve of Mods. He dressed in a sort of Mod mode. Ian was a lover of black American folk blues and had grown into teenage-hood listening to The Animals and Alexis Korner. Diz lived with him for a short time.
We know music generally went through a period of massive upheaval from 1976 on. I felt confused about what direction to take having been a fan of Hendrix, Clapton, Bolan, Peter Green, Steely Dan, Man, Amon Duul, the pre-punk Doctors of Madness, and Bob Marley. Punk was punk, I saw the Damned and the Adverts in 1976, bin bags, short songs. All posing, not much music. The Clash’s White Riot was great, The Jam excellent, but New Wave never seemed to really satisfy for long. Diz played us lots of stuff in the blue van, we had Pink Floyd’s Ummagumma, and Steel Pulse’s Handsworth Revolution which we all sang along with, there was also Adam and the Ants’ Dirk Wears White Sox, songs like Zerox Machine and Car Trouble. And my Django Reinhardt tape, which Steve begged me not to play. The others knew Gang of Four, and Diz sent off for some Joy Division ‘Transmission’ singles. Music soup for all.
Obviously, there was such a wide range of new music as well as old well known sounds. It was confusing. We'd been through a Dexys phase, the Geno phase, wearing little black, woolly hats, until they were interviewed on some kids’ programme and clearly had little to say, or to identify with. During the Dexys moment, we once went tooled-up to the Retford Porterhouse when Ian was feeling threatened. It felt strange being handed short lengths of hose pipe to hide up sleeves. Very alien. Edgy places nightclubs. I seem to recall Derek's comment that ‘skinheads are always trouble.’ I’m not sure which gig that was. Or whether it was at the Porterhouse. Always someone seeking violence. The Porterhouse was the closest available stage where bands on the up, and bands on the wane, performed. We went occasionally. A few names come to mind, such as OMD in March, UB40 in May, and Nine Below Zero in July – that was a great gig, very danceworthy uptempo blues and a fantastic harp player - though Diz did notice that they were jamming through the second half. Still got paid. The list of bands who played there is awesome, you could see Noel Redding one night, Madness the next, or the UK Subs, or Bill Nelson.
Ian Rowntree did one essentially ‘managerial’ thing for me at least. He drove some of us to Coda Music in Bradford – he was originally from there – so I could try to find a good guitar. The guy that dealt with me was an expert. I had this Strat fixation, so he brought out some brown plank, but said that only one in six CBS Strats were any good. He showed me a slim vintage well-worn, early Strat in its original case – should have bought that one! An Ovation teardrop, which felt light as balsa, and then an Ibanez Musician. Lots of complex switches, and many sounds, cleverly demonstrated. About £345. We all celebrated in some café restaurant. Back to the Mill for a try out. Still needed a powerful amp and some attention to producing cut through solos.
Another time Diz and I called into Carlsboro Sound Centre, in Mansfield I think, so he could try out some bass guitars. I only remember this because of a couple of details. Diz remarked on the other guitarists in the sound booths, all trainee shredders, sounding like bees buzzing in jam jars while he just relished the deep single note bass booming under his fingers. Not sure whether he bought anything then, but we were also entertained by some young long haired rock roadie type and his oration upon how much gaffa tape he habitually used.
By July Steve Procter from Worksop came to join us. Steve always played Genesis on the drive over to Retford, ‘Turn it on again’ was current. Steve was and is a massive Genesis fan, bringing with him a Polymoog and a drum machine. And some real keyboard ability. If I played a note, or a phrase, he could play that at once, could converse musically. He also brought a range of tunes, which we didn't have, and which we used at once. Listening to some of these now, it's easy to hear what tweaks and changes were needed. But the wash of keyboard sounds filled out our sound really well and we at once entered the realm of prog possibilities. We'd agonised over band names – the assonantal ‘Stone Dome Band’ clearly genuflected to the wonderful Steve Hillage, but it was all very tongue in cheek. The usual reaction, including Ian Rowntree’s, was to repeat the label derisively.
I have salvaged some of the cassettes from that time – Steve and Diz, I imagine have more professional recordings of our sessions. My old tapes are pre-Derek Dick, with some potential. The best songs are as follows:
Dum De Dum, which I think became Astral Stroll
The Whalehunt/Greenpeace, long jams
Dry Cider, fast paced, great bass, some under volume solos
Pyramids, I think Derek added vocals eventually
These scattered memories take me up to the advent of Derek Dick of Dalkeith.....
The Band 1980
The Asteroid Hits Retford
I'm guessing that Diz, patient guy that he is, was longing to get away from Retford and Laneham. Anyway, he informed us that he'd advertised for a singer and had a reply, and the guy was coming to meet us all. My memories of Derek Dick I would say are few. I have a sense of him not putting down any roots in our home area and of some connection to Cambridge, punts and bikes being thrown at punts, I don't know. I just don't think I spent enough time with the man, he was travelling too fast. I do have a fond memory of Diz bringing him round to my parents bungalow in Retford; the giant walks in, quizzes my brother about whether he's in the army. Takes it all in.
We used to drink in a hotel called The Elms in Retford and this is where Diz brought him to meet the band. He seemed nice enough, he stated quite assertively that he needed a steak, so we all sat around and waited for the meal to arrive. I must have been taking the piss because the next thing I know he's waving a steak knife in my face and asking me whether or not I'm mocking his accent. Diz loved the worried expression on my face, Derek told him later that it was some kind of test to see what I would do. I filed that one away.
In Laneham the vaguely trendy pub at that time was The Butcher’s Arms, which has been demolished. There was a mixture of local barflies, would be hard men bikers, arsy barmaids and kids who drove from Retford to have a couple there. Derek stood out with his Arab scarf draped around his shoulders. He had a habit of chewing the tassels and also had an infectious giggle, blowing air out of his mouth under the top lip. He could assess people instantly: which of the local girls were ok, whether our drummer was just a ‘Heavy Metal drummer’, whether the sound guy knew anything at all about sound systems, and so on. Derek Dick was on a mission, sifting through potential people, and I sensed he wouldn't be around too long. All the clothes that he bought from now on he said were ‘stage clothes.’ He did a nice line in dungarees.
I think we must have been looking for a more enclosed place to practice our stuff because one time we went back to what Diz called ‘The Piggeries’ which was a pretty dusty great shed like building with lights and power. We'd been there once before with the late Remo Rossini, a Retford guitarist who had a nice Marshall amp and cab. Lots of old dusty sacks, concrete floors. The asthmatics paradise. Derek showed me his notebooks. One contained a long poem to a girlfriend, with a description of a kiss. He used the quaint word ‘liquor’ for saliva. It was the kind of poetry young blokes write. And there was lots of it. He also used quite a lot of slangy stage ready English in his lyrics, nothing wrong with that. He said that he could go to ‘uni’ anytime and it was clear that he was very creatively minded, full of lyrical flow. There was some political edge to his thinking also. Lots of things he was too polite to say perhaps. He muttered something about ‘Covenanters’ which I didn't understand and predicted the course of the Scottish drive for independence.
I think The Piggeries was the only time I really had a chance to play guitar alongside the man. We were quite friendly by then, he even said he'd enjoy having me up alongside him on stage as were were both tall blokes. I was very flattered. He quizzed me about musical influences, was interested in the reggae names but said he was ‘trying to get away from’ the music of Steely Dan. There were so many names I wish I'd mentioned to him, but I think I was a bit overawed by the guy. That session was a lesson in what bands need to succeed. Musicians. A singer who delivers. Creative lyricists. The right mixture of minds. Derek Dick was one of those individuals who can improvise on the spot, hear a rhythm and drop into it directly.
My equipment at that time was fairly limited. I had the Ibanez Musician guitar, 24 frets, onboard preamp, a Coloursound Supa Tonebender and wah, and had just bought a noisy Electro-Harmonix Deluxe Electric Mistress flanger. The amp I had was, to use Bill Nelson’s word, ‘sad’ – a Dan Armstrong lump with graphic equaliser sliders that had very little volume. Diz had driven me out to buy this secondhand from some local youth. I should have known better.
I was strumming some D9th wah chord version of Hendrix’s ‘Up From The Skies’ and Derek came and stood by me and started making up and singing lyrics to the rhythm. That was great. But the best moment of that day was his song idea. He knew what he wanted to hear and what the accompaniment needed to be and told us. This is what the band required, a leader to kick it forward. So what he wanted was a beginning using the booming Close Encounters alien riff. We got that done. Then chords happened in an appropriate key, Derek floated his lyrics over it all with more passion and commitment than I'd ever seen. I was supplying double stop chordal backup and it all ended in a long crescendo where the Electric Mistress knobs were turned fully around to supply a wild alien jabber. We all glanced at each other. Derek said that we had something there.
That was a life come to life moment. But, autumnal shadows were drawing in. Diz and Derek turned up at the Trading Standards office where I worked, scared the secretary. Derek asked my whether I liked my job. I said something dramatic and foolish. I think they were off on their travels again. I wasn't really being included in the way forward, whatever that was. Derek mentioned buying a PA system. Derek said that ‘you make good music when you’re hungry.’ Not perhaps the best persuader. It was all a bit rushed for me and I had the feeling of being pushed around.
The last time I saw Derek Dick was in mid November, by pure coincidence in a garage at a place called Markham Moor. I was helping to test petrol pumps. There he was wandering across the forecourt dressed in a long raincoat and a gentlemen's outfitters tweed hat. He told me he was hitch hiking south and that he was wearing these clothes to create a good impression.
The last time I spoke to Derek, was I think in the office in Retford on the phone. Derek said they were putting band together, and that he wondered whether I'd like to play guitar for that band. I said no, or at least not for some months. Derek said it was now. Diz came on the phone sounding regretful. Derek then said with his usual wisdom, that they'd lost out by not having me, but I'd lose out by not coming along. He was right of course and that decision will haunt me. The rest of the band including myself were feeling nonplussed, resentful, weird. There was a time pause. I caught Derek on tv demonstrating how to cut down a tree. When I called at the Mill with work, Diz’s father mentioned that ‘William’ had ‘done some work for the BBC.’
Eight years later, in the June of 1988, Diz sent me a package containing my old paperback copy of Grendel, with a short letter. I had bought that book on a school trip to London in the early 70s, that edition was printed in 1973. I was always fond of monster tales and of course that one originates in the Beowulf story. I vaguely recall lending it to Diz, and it was interesting to hear how the story sowed a musical seed.
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Stone Dome Band
Derek Dick Vocals
Chris J P Smith Guitars
Diz Minnitt Bass
Steve Kemp Drums
Steve Proctor Keyboards
Stone Dome Band 1980 - Steve Kemp, Diz Minnitt and Steve Procter. Photos courtesy of Chris J P Smith. Photo restoration David Richardson
