One Three One: A Time-Shifting Gnostic Hooligan Road Novel by Julian Cope Read Free Book Online

rather than daring to smash its smug face in with a hammer. And
Prison Writings
’ final prognostication as regards Half Man?
    “I met Nigel [the singer/songwriter] once, I puked. His pop star haircut but no balls to be one. Ducking behind the cultural sofa, taking pot shots at gooleyless Kids TV presenters, but still he’s at home in the mirror gelling up a squarky-bird haircut. Always safe with Tranmere Rovers. Yes, I stuck with Be Quick for football and friends, but for international violence I graduated also to F.C. Groningen.” (
Prison Writings,
202)
    Face-to-face, Hertzog had spoken similarly harsh words to me, and all in that clipped, stentorian manner of his. Fuck, was this Dutch lunatic committed. According to his
Prison Writings
, Hertzog’s fiery relationship with the ‘nihilistic/apathistic’ lyrics of Half Man Half Biscuit had forced him in late 1986 upon a quest to purge …
    “… from my soul all of the casual, White Supremacist feeling that has dwelled so peacefully within me whilst up here in my natural German border habitat.” (
Prison Writings
, 28)
    To confront then re-engage with his true Inner Barbarian, according to
Prison Writings
, Hertzog next armed himself with an orange spray can and declared himself the First Indie Football Hooligan in F.C. Groningen’s monthly magazine, writing:
    “In a democracy such as ours, the rigour with which you wield your spray can denotes your level of artistry. Andin such a democracy, where such materials can be readily bought, owning your own spray can does not alone make you an artist.” (
Prison Writings,
Introduction iii)
    Furthermore, as a damaged N. Netherlander whose family and friends still had so much Nazi collaboration to put behind them, Hertzog was the kind of put-upon Ugly Customer that felt justification in seeking their truth anywhere. Anywhere at all. From his
Prison Writings
rants, it sounds as though Judge Barry – after he’d learned from Malcolm X ‘The True Story of the White People and How We Got Here’ – well, Judge Barry had just jumped on all that as justification for his own World Anger. White people were bred to rebel and go crazy up north, wrote the Prophet Malcolm in his World Massive autobiography. Thinks Hertzog: ‘That exempts me from responsibility for the bad way I feel,’ and daubs a massive X across his face for Italia ’90. Welcome to our nightmare.
    Reading further extracts from
Prison Writings
and gradually reconstituting the words of our penitentiary meeting almost word for fuzzy word, I realised with certainty that had it not been for the arrival of Mick Fizz and his Last Tango in Paris, Messrs Half Man & Biscuit would be rotting on the damp floor of the Waddenzee, but you know what? Fuck Hertzog. He’s fluent in English and that fucker is an Anglophile with a Liverpool background himself,
and
he’d even had his own big hit in English. So of course Hertzog understood Mick’s words enough to be incensed by their vacuousness. But I’d watched Anna listening to that stupid Brits Abroad hit today, jigging about on top of the car and entirely clueless as to what it was about.
    ROCK : You like it a lot?
    ANNA : (
So happy
) I love the film, too!
    What? Let me get this straight once and for all, clear it up. The subject matter of the Brits Abroad song that got us all targeted, kidnapped and what-have-you was about Mick and his Liverpool F.C. buddies running riot down La Place de la Concorde because some poor little Parisian 3rd div. team they were playing ran out of the cold fizzy drinks that fuel M. Goodby’s existence. Unable to access the right kind of fizz, Mick got hauled off by the gendarmes for grabbing half a Tango out of some youth’s hand. But even though the shiny pop video had made it clear, crystal clear, most Euros still somehow remember the song as being after the Brando movie
Last Tango in Paris
. Ummm. So what Mick’s first few ranty verses must sound like to foreigners, I really can’t