There was a heavy irony to these takes for sure, but an homage too in those simple chord structures and amplification. They covered classic rock’n’roll classics such as Orbison’s ‘Domino’, Elvis’s ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, Ricky Nelson’s ‘Lonesome Town’ and Jimmy Rogers’ ‘Muleskinner Blues’ – frequently with total disregard to the original tempo and meter. The Cramps were way more into musical history than they were every given credit for. The knowledgeable sound, full of kitchy rock references gave it away. But half a listen and they were something different. Yes the patent leather, red lipstick and fishnets (and that was just the singer!) seemed punk. The Cramps came to the UK on the punk rock scene but they were so obviously from another genre entirely. Like his lady wife back there on the fuzztoned guitars he was bright, wild, sexy and waaaaay over the top. Lux was just wild – a patent leather Elvis after shock treatment, he would regularly peel off the shiny to reveal womens underwear and a huge contorting torso. This was entirely because of the lunatic up front. Not that anyone seemed to look beyond the hair and the heels and the big fuzz pedal collection permanently on max and see just what an amazing musician powered this larger-than-life psychobilly garage punk band from California. Betty Page as a dolled-up scream queen – and boy could she play some on that huge Chet Atkins 50s guitar. Bryan reputedly got a later gig as a zombie in a George Romero flick.Īnd Ivy, well she was every bit as glam and gorgeous in real life. Skunk fringed and scarfaced, he played the bass lines on 5 and 6, cigarette hanging from his lips. Vintage Cramps had a sneering Bryan Gregory upstage on a beat up old six string. I was lucky enough to catch them playing live in a Sheffield club. It all came at breakneck speed played through tiny Fender and Vox amps cranked up to eleventeen.Īnd at the heart of that big surfpunk sound? A wild haired bikini-clad guitar-totin’ Cali girl by the name of Poison Ivy. I would quickly find that The Cramps were a campy concoction of wild old 50s rockabilly, 60s horror movie and sexploitation culture. Sure enough the cover was like an old B-Movie schlocker and the band, well, looked like The Munsters on acid. I found it listed in some music mag and sent away for the vinyl. It had as much to do with old surfer music like Duane Eddy and Link Wray as it had with modern rock n roll and it had genuine Hammer Horror bats in its belfry. The sound was deeply familiar but disturbing and wild as if from another era. It was simultaneously subversive and hilarious. The DJ on some fading pirate station was playing a massive reverb filled swamp punk number called Under The Wire, a paean to dirty phone calls.
The first I heard of The Cramps was on late night radio.
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