Rubella Ballet

THE DAY THE WORLD
TURNED DAY-GLOW.
INTRODUCING THE PURPLE
PEOPLE EATERS.
BY KILTY MCGUIRE

YOU SEE them coming and you take one look, an electric FLASH of exploding red hair, an exhuberant personality that almost sparkles as she walks, a Noddy 'n' Big Ears print dress with sparkly red lacing ending somewhere mid-thigh as the fishnets take over.
You take two looks, a lumbering six foot five mohican in retina-searing guady lime-green and purple striped jumper, a wall to wall grin splitting his face in two.
You take three looks, huddling
inside a ginormous, imitation
leopard-skin coat that's falling
apart as she tugs it around, blue
hair cascading over the collar and
spiked to the heavens.
You take four looks, but there is
no fourth person, oh he of silver
plastic, elasticated waist-band
trousers and matching wellies is
absent today.
For this is Rubella Ballet, or
should I say THE Rubella Ballet,
the legendary foursome who've
galvanised tack, tackified anarcho
-punk and caught the attention of
not a few mighty meaty pleasure-
seekers. Not the least being John
Peel for whom they recently did a
cracking session � surely
destined to be one of the year's
finest � and e'en the NME lauded
their nine track (tape only) 'Ballet
Bag' mini LP/maxi EP. To the Skies
I tell you, to the skies.
As the three waltz merrily up the
street � technicoloured and
HAPPY a sharp contrast to the
drab bargain seeking passers-by
this late Saturday afternoon on
Portobello Road, you have to smile
to yourself. This is what we want!!
And, my god they're so abashed
even the weathered veteran like
myself is caught unawares. We
stand there apologising and
excusing ourselves, Zillah and
Gemma (of the red and blue hair)
complain about having to spend
10 pence just to have a piss while
me and Sid (he of the mohican)
find a carpet.
Such Is life.
When the talk comes to
categories, and the category is
Anarcho-punk , Rubella Ballet
always seem to be lumped in
along with the Flux of Pink
Indians, Conflict, The
Subhumans etc as "a Crass
band" and thus labelled,
dismissed. This is more due to
where they've come from rather
than what theyre doing now (let alone future directions) as two (Pete Fender and Gemma) are siblings of Vi Subversa, chanteuese for Poison Girls (one of Anarcho-punk's finest). Because of this there was innevitably mucho Epping to-ing and fro-ing in earlier , rehearsal-ridden days.
"We used to hide on the stairs and listen to Steve Ignorant and Annie Anxiety holding pitched battles," confides Zillah. Methings we'd best draw a veil across the rest.
Formed in early '79, supporting Crass on their two notorious Conway Hall concerts-cum=calamity riots that summer, they've fluctuated through multiple line-ups till finally holding steady about a year ago with the current Zillah Minx on vocals, Sid Attion on drums. Gem Stone (or Gamme Ray if she's in a foul mood) on bass and her brother Pete Fender on guitar and silver trousers. (A minor aside is Sids being in both Rubella Ballet and Flux of Pink Indians at the same time, for awhile. Two of his songs are on their highly praised, debut EP, 'Neu Smell'.
Their lyrics are much more abtruse, abstract aspects of a society gone wrong � "most of our songs are personal experiences or dreams" Sid explained at one point � than the 'Crass bands' usually come up with. So, do you believe in Anarchy?
A quick pause, and then
Zillah sort of side steps
with, "'Anarchy' is the
wrong word really. I believe
in equal rights for
EVERYONE, but it's in
your head. Freedom is in
your head before it's
changing society. There's
still so many people come
to our gigs who think
they're anarchists and,
you look at them, they're
more part of the problem
than anything. Like
vegetarians, some of
them go on about their
animals but they don't
care about human babies
starving to death ...", at this
point she rants and raves
against vegetarians,
Mexican oil-companies
and we lose the point
entirely.
Sid returns to the question unexpectedly with a curt, "when you start getting into the 'anarchy' side of all this, there's so many different feelings about it, whatever you try and say there's always a voice going, 'Rubbish! THIS is anarchy, you're talking bollocks'. We enjoy playing the Autonomy Centre, I consider myself an anarchist but we're taking it a bit further, making it a bit brighter."
At their last Autonomy Centre gig, 500 turned up after one mention in the gig guide. 300 managed to squeeze into the cramped room to see Rubella at their best. So hot you could barely move by the time Rubella came on, it was like being taken to another level of experience.
When the Ballet trash-bash started up the sound and visions of the support bands were shown up as just so much black and white. Amidst the mad dancing we caught glimpses of a life beyond, flashes of imagery in the lyrics like, "I need the circle, spun noise security, grooved purity" (from 'Me') kept us alive.
As your knees start to sag, your thrill-buds perk up to "we'll have some tea, I'll slit my wrists, it'll add another twist" from the set ending classic, T'. First Gemma and Pete stop playing and walk off stage, leaving just Sid's powerhouse, almost reggae rhythms and Zillah repeating the chorus ... "Emotional, emotional blackmail, my plan can't fail", she cries more and more frantically till she reaches some sort of climatic conclusion and leaves the stage to Sid alone, hammering and pounding the relentless rhythm, holding the song and audience captive till finally he relents, stops and we are left for dead. Though our bodies may lie prostrate in pools of sweat, our minds dance on. A dance of life intended. The transcendental Pogo, mate.
"We've been doing 'T' since we started, always the last song with everyone walkin off. It was okay then, no-one ever clapped we didn't have to do encores. Now we come trooping back on like a herd of sheep, it spoils the effect. And once you've seen us do it a few times it looks silly," Sid expounds, cut short by Zillah's musing, "Everyone's seen it now, and it's a 'star' thing to do encores and that... but then it's even more of a 'star' thing not to, if people have paid to see you."
Here they sit, pleading extreme poverty, about how they can't do half the gigs they're offered because they can't afford to get there, "let alone bring equipment," Zillah in her self-made, self-designed dresses of a zillion colours (and each one clashing).
Care-free, ex-chef Sid laughing about, "we're not starving, we still eat once a week."
Remembering that Gemma is still a schoolgirl of 15 (Pete Fender's not much older) and already involved in all this wonderous 'revolt against banality'. I can but think to myself, paraphrasing Gemma n' Pete's mum: They haven't got a pill called hope, but we've got a band called Rubella Ballet and that's pretty encouraging.
KILTY McGUIRE PUNK LIVES #3 1982/83