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Seven Days Too Long
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Love Part One
There, There, My Dear

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Geno
There, There, My Dear

On a hot night in July 78 two men, Kevin Rowland and Al Archer left their Iow profile Birmingham hide-out to round up a firm of boys. Fed up with petty spoils from their previous team - a small-time new wave group - and disillusioned by the lack of response from the major fences, they knew this one was going to be the big one and if they were going to have it off they would have to be eight handed. . . with the hardest hitting men in town.

First stop was a rundown nightclub on the edge of town, well known for it's clientele of hard rock villains from the last generation. The band were in full swing as the two men strolled in. They were a bunch of smash and grab artists thumping away and rolling over on the floor, as if expecting a punk revival - all apart from the drummer , Andy Grocott who was exceptional and was recruited immediately. A weak later, young Pete Sunders armed with a Hammond organ, was instated. His only form was having played with a local pop group. The following day tenor sax player JB was kidnapped from the late great "Geno Washington and the Ram Jam Band." Then there were five.

The rest of the team took a bit longer to recruit and some of the boys got impalient. Rowland and Archer assured them that this sound was the big one and was weII worth wailing for. The boys cooled down and consolled themselves by listening to records of Cliff Bennett, Zoot Money, Sam and Dave, James Brown and Aretha Franklin. etc

Soon after a young bass driver by the name of Pete Williams walked into the hidout carrying his tool under one arm and the complete Stax collection under the other. Disillusiond with new musak, he put his souI records on the table and shouted "I want to do something as good as these - only better." The boys knew exactly what he meant and welcomed him with open arms.

The team was completed by the incIusion of Steve "Babyface" Spooner, the alto who got the word from a local snout and Big Jimmy Paterson who had been laying Iow in the north of Scotland. He got wind of a big one going off in the Midlands, grabbed his trombone and jumped on the next train. The firm was complete - now for the caper. . .

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