Visage – Rusty Egan

In the recent popular sci-fi/cop drama ‘Ashes to Ashes’, a group of detectives go under cover at a London nightclub. Since the narrative is set in 1981, the venue is frequented by (what became termed that same year) ‘New Romantics’. It’s a scene that’s a homage to the Blitz club, a London location where, back in 1981, Steve Strange and Rusty Egan ran a new kind of night club that stridently moved away from the spitting and brawling of the entropic punk scene. The music and fashions were sophisticated, cool and danceable. This wasn’t a clientele in clothes appropriated from bin liners and toilet chains. Such a grouping celebrated the flamboyant, the narcisstic, and the eccentric as exemplified by the dandified Regency designs by Vivienne Westwood which were seen later with the likes of Adam Ant. The bands under this journalistic label – Spandau Ballet, Visage, Ultravox, Japan, Culture Club, Duran Duran – offered up a new style of synth-pop that was as bombastic as a box set of Sky albums and as pretentious as Tara Palmer-Tomkinson’s Swiss apartment in Klosters.

Rusty Egan was the DJ who defined the sound of that moment by playing records which might have previously got a DJ lynched: Kraftwerk, David Bowie, Roxy Music, Ultravox, Magazine, Japan, Brian Eno, and electronic film soundtracks. Strange became the doorman whose increasingly eccentric door policy resulted in him refusing entry to a pissed-off Mick Jagger.

Visage was formed in 1978 by Rusty Egan, Midge Ure and Steve Strange. They were soon joined by Ultravox’s Billy Currie, and a trio of musicians from Magazine: Dave Formula, Barry Adamson, and John McGeoch. In 1980, Visage released their most successful single, ‘Fade to Grey’, an earlier guise of which had been written by Billy Currie and Chris Payne (titled ‘Toot City’) during the 1979 tour for Gary Numan. The single was followed by other top 40 hits, most notably: ‘Visage’, ‘Mind of a Toy’, ‘Damned Don’t Cry’, and ‘Night Train’ – but Visage never captured the glory of the iconic ‘Fade to Grey’.

In spite of this, Visage was highly influential in sound and image for the glut of more successful imitators that followed. Visage’s achievements were all the more remarkable in that they weren’t really a band at all – they existed solely as a studio project designed to, yes, make money, but also give Egan the kinds of records he liked to play to a home crowd. The beginning of the end came with the third album, ‘Beat Boy’. Most of the band members had jumped ship. Egan and Strange decided to take Visage out as a live act – but the band quickly folded. In the late 1990s, Strange brought back Visage, though this time as Visage mkII. They played a beefed-up version of ‘Fade to Grey’ in ‘Ashes to Ashes’ to impressive effect, but their occasional live appearances have generated generally poor reviews.
Rusty Egan is the DNA running through a whole cluster of bands both before and after Visage. He nearly became drummer for The Clash; he then became the drummer for The Rich Kids with Midge Ure – from which they formed Visage; he introduced Ure to Phil Lynott which resulted in the collaborative single ‘Yellow Pearl’ (becoming the Top of the Pops theme from 1981); Rusty persuaded Ultravox’s Billy Currie to let Ure become the new lead singer for the band; during the recording of Visage’s first album, he went on tour with The Skids as their drummer; his Djing in the latter half of the 70s and early 80s influenced the sonic tastes of many groups of the time and future DJs – he almost single-handedly introduced German electronica to the British club scene; in the mid-80s he opened Camden Palace which featured appearances from pop neophytes Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Madonna.
At present, to quote from his website: ‘Rusty has been Resident DJ to Roger Michael’s ‘ Rock star’ night at Boujis, South Kensington since the onset and it was awarded the ‘Best Night’ Award at The 2005 London Club and Bar Awards where he also received ‘Best DJ’. He continues to play on a weekly basis at many of London’s top clubs and parties including Boujis, Chinawhite, Umbaba, Boutique 60 and Aura’.
Adam Locks meets Rusty at the Mahiki club in London to discuss Egan’s work past and present.

To begin with, can you tell me how you and Steve Strange got involved with the clubs Billy’s and the Blitz, the latter which became the birthplace of the New Romantics. Looking back at footage of the scene, it looks an amazing time, plus you all look so bloody young.

What, young now?

Well yes, young now, but especially then.

You’ve got to understand what London was like at the time – it was Thatcherite Britain: it was grey, it was horrible, and it was disgusting. If that was London, can you imagine Manchester at that time? We were very bright and colourful young people; a lot of them were students at St Martin’s College etc. We were listening to an alternative style of music – i.e. we were punks at one point. Previous to being punks we were probably into Bowie or Ultravox! or Kraftwerk or Eno. So, the bottom line was, where do we go and play that music and hear it and hang around? The answer: no where. There was literally no where to go. So it was like me grabbing my record collection and saying all back to mine, except we did it in this tiny little gay club.

Billy’s?

Yeah. Actually it wasn’t a gay club, it was just that on the Tuesday night at a miserable time like that in Soho, probably most of the customers were. That’s it, really.

How did you meet Steve Strange?

I met him in the punk days.

Where?

King’s Road.

In a shop, a pub, a club?

You know, walking down King’s Road and you go, “Hey mate, you look fantastic. Where did you get that coat?” You know, where did they get that German leather trench coat?

As you do.

Yeah, as you do. I used to hang around with Billy Idol. Him and me were mates. We used to go out and pull. Then Steve and I became mates – he hung around with me because Billy began to get a bit busy.

With Generation X?

Yeah.

Steve had a well-publicised fall from grace from the late 1980s, didn’t he? It was a pretty sad moment when he was caught stealing a Telly Tubby from a shop.

Well, who didn’t have a fall from grace? Adam Ant, how’s he doing?

Judging from a documentary I saw not that long ago, not great. Ok, going back to the clubs, did you feel at the time that you were behind a cultural revolution of sorts?

Well look, you and I have just arrived at this club tonight. It’s Monday night. It’s ten o’clock. I’m playing music that I like in the background. The barmen, the manager – most of the staff here are foreign. Most of them don’t care about the music, as long as the customers aren’t complaining. So, if you had 150 mates – when you arrived at this club it was full of suits coming out the office. For example, I’d play Frank Zappa, ‘Dancing Fool’, which was basically ridiculing everybody on the dance floor saying, “I’m an idiot with a hairy chest and a gold medallion and a little bit of coke”. So, basically, I played really bad records and people used to come up to me and tell me how crap I was, and I knew that soon all my mates were going to arrive and then we could play what we wanted to play – but I had to get rid of the suits. So, here I am twenty-thirty years later and I’m playing to 20 year old people what they want to hear. What I want to hear maybe on my ipod. The point is, what we did at that time was play music to a very small contingent of people in London who wanted to hear it.

A niche.

Yeah, a little niche.

Perhaps you’ve already partly answered the question, but did you think New Romantics were a continuation of punks – you know, ‘Peacock Punks’ – or a breakaway?

I would have seen them as more of an evolvement. Don’t forget that Boy George auditioned for Bow Wow Wow as lead singer. I managed Matthew Ashman who was in that band and they then formed the Chiefs of Relief with Paul Cook from the Sex Pistols. We all kind of knew each other. I was in punk bands. I was in The Skids. So, at the end of the day, I would have thought the New Romantics were an evolvement of punk without the violence, without the spitting, and without the “Oi” – sorry Gary Bushell.

So, the New Romantics were an evolvement which was much more loved-up?

Yeah, we were more loved-up. They were more gay, you know. New Romantics were the more fashionable side of punk. New Romantics were the Vivian Westwood designer side of it, rather than the Malcolm McClaren New York Dolls music side of it.

Going back to Boy George, I can’t imagine what it must have been like having him as the cloak room attendant in your club. What was that like?

Nor could anyone who arrived. They felt a bit dodgy about giving him their coat. He did take things from peoples’ pockets. Things did go missing every night, but he was very good at lying. The bottom line is that everyone knew that they were going to be a star or successful in some way or other, so nobody was looking for a job. Everyone was looking for a way to make just enough money to keep them in the lifestyle to which they were accustomed. Did you know Marc Almond was a cloakroom attendant in a Leeds warehouse? So, if you were making music all day and you worked for one night and nicked whatever you could and picked up your doll cheque, you could make your music. I mean, for Jarvis Cocker, it went on a little bit too long.

Again, you’ve answered this in part, but obviously there was a lot of make-up involved with the look of the clientele who frequented your clubs; there was certainly something very gay in the appearance of many of the New Romantic bands in the beginning of their careers. I mean, what was it with leather hats worn by Midge Ure singing ‘Vienna’ on ‘Top of the Pops’, or Depeche Mode – they all looked like something out of a Tom of Finland drawing (excluding the displayed genitalia).

Then again, Lou Reed wasn’t gay and yet the back cover of ‘Transformer’ has him dressed what you’d now say is a real gay outfit – actually, there was a member of the Village People dressed exactly the same.

Sure, but what I’m wondering if was there a conscious or not so conscious mimicking of gay subculture going on?

No, no. How can I put it? When you went out dressed up trying to attract girls, you didn’t go out dressed up looking like a yob off the terraces. At the end of the day, it’s what you were because, in fact, you were some suburban kid. So, you were trying to get away from that identity. So, you were going, “No, no, no – all my mates I don’t see anymore. They don’t understand the music or me”. You were therefore in-between the two. You were not like a suburban yob off the council estate, yet you were, but you were trying to move way from this.

That leather wear looks incredibly gay now, but judging by your comments about Lou Reed, did then as well.

Well, I drew the line. I’d been the heterosexual throughout the whole era. But I’d wear certain things which were on the edge of “Is he gay, is he not?” Soon as I opened my mouth, you kind of knew that I wasn’t.

My biggest shock about the period was a story about Steve Strange sleeping with The Stranglers bassist – JJ Burnel – after a gig in the 70s. I’ve always been a Stranglers fan, so I’m amazed that I never heard that one. Was that common knowledge in your social circle?

No, I didn’t, no, not at the time, although I did read about it in Steve’s autobiography. From my understanding of the gay world, there is a man and a woman in the relationship. One man takes one role. So it would be a very heterosexual looking guy in the relationship. Sometimes they’d be hairy blokes and what have you. So, I don’t know. I don’t know if JJ ever had anything to say about that matter.

Did you know JJ?

No, I didn’t know him. I knew Hugh Cornwell better and have continued to know him for many years. I saw The Stranglers when they were a three-piece before they had a keyboard player.

Crikey, before Dave Greenfield?

Before they had the keyboard player. I saw them in the Greyhound pub in Fulham Palace Grove. I saw everyone. Don’t forget, I was a tea boy in a recording studio in the 70s.

You are known for DJing at Billy’s and the Blitz and your play list from that time is like a who’s who of electronica. How many of these acts frequented your clubs and who else did you meet later on? I know, for example, that you’ve always been a huge admirer of Kraftwerk.

Well, I jumped on a plane and flew out to Düsseldorf to meet Kraftwerk in 1979 to meet Ralph and Florian. I also went to Conny Plank’s studio.

Why did you go out there?

Because I completely loved them and I wanted to meet them. I knew Düsseldorf was a small town, so I just went into the town in the afternoon and asked people were I could meet Kraftwerk and I was told them that I could find them at the club Malesh. So I went there and guess what I had with me? I used to carry around with me David Bowie singing in German ‘Heroes’ – ‘Helden’ – and I’d go up to a DJ in a club and ask if they’d got this, and they’d say “No”, then I’d say “I have” – then I’d give him the record. It was my favourite record.

What were Florian and Ralph like?

Very subdued and quiet. I told them what I believed was happening in London and said that I thought ‘Man Machine’ was a complete work of genius and that they would be discovered. Sometime later they came to my house in 1983.

Why? How?

I tried to turn the Camden Palace into Kling Klang Studios for a week and paint it black and red – the whole building. The plan was to do two shows a night. Wasted Talent was our agent. I never got the gig, but I was in contact with them at the time saying, “Look, take over my entire club every night and turn it into Kraftwerk land”. It didn’t work, so when they came over, they had dinner at mine and then played a gig at the Hammersmith Apollo instead. I’m still in contact online with Karl [Bartos]. I think his music is fantastic. I think everyone I’ve either adored or loved, I’ve kind of met.

How did you become drummer with The Rich Kids?

Well, I had been one of the drummers with The Clash in the 1970s. Me and Jon Moss – he rehearsed for The Clash. I introduced Jon Moss to Boy George. As I’ve told you, I was friends with Billy Idol, and Mark Laff – who was in Generation X – also rehearsed for The Clash. So, it was Mark Laff, Jon Moss and me. I used to be in a band with Malcolm [Owen] from The Ruts and his girlfriend was the lead singer. I got Topper [Headen] to meet The Clash because they weren’t looking for a fourth member of the band – they were looking for a drummer. They had a drummer called Terry Chimes and they weren’t treating him like a member of the band. When I came along, they thought me a nice perky little kid who they could pay a few quid to play the drums. But I was saying, “No, not really” because you’re either in a band or not.

How competent a drummer were you?

I’m just a good straight forward rock drummer. I believed in being like a machine. I believed the drummer was the backbone to the song. My drum idol of the time was probably Simon Kirke from Bad Company as a straight forward rock drummer. And, obviously, I loved electronica, so I loved to play like a machine.

The Wolfgang Flur approach?

Yeah. But look at Ultravox’s drummer, Warren Cann. Warren Cann was a fucking phenomenal machine. ‘Herr X’ we called him.

Warren Cann was very techy, wasn’t he? Apparently he was always customising his Roland CR-78 drum machine.

Well, that’s because we were all discovering at the time. Also, as a person, he was someone who would always intellectualise everything.

Moving on, what did you make of Glen Matlock because the other Sex Pistols weren’t particularly nice about him once he’d left the band?

Me and him are very good friends. I’ll being seeing him at the Isle of Wight because I’ll be DJing and the Sex Pistols are headlining, plus his kids live there. You got to understand where Glen is coming from. Number one: he wrote the bloody stuff – he was the writer in the band. He was like the grammar school kid compared to council estate kids. So he was the one who could express what Lydon was trying to say. The fact that they did a couple of Monkeys songs and an Iggy Pop song in rehearsals and a few Small Faces – they were basically a pub band playing all their favourite songs which just happened to be things like Iggy’s ‘No Fun’. They also loved the Small Faces because they were really like a British-English band, so there was none of that ‘American shit’. Obviously McClaren had an influence which Lydon and everyone does not want to acknowledge. When Glen was dropped, Lydon grabbed his mate – Sid Vicious – who couldn’t really play.

Did you meet Sid?

I did meet Sid and he was the kind of guy you don’t want to meet. He was just a fucking idiot. He’d just gob in your face. It made you want to lay him out.

Was he that aggressive?

The whole of London was that aggressive.

Did you get on with Midge Ure from the first time you met him because you’ve always been incredibly complimentary about him in interviews?

Midge had been offered to be made a star in the 70s and took that deal for the band Slik. Very soon he was on the fucking slag heap. So, from being number one with ‘Forever and Ever’ and being a pin-up in ‘Oh Boy’, you’re now back on the dole because you didn’t write the song. He took the cheap deal. But really, underneath it all, he was a very talented guy. He got an offer to front The Sex Pistols. I mean, what other offers were coming in? Anyway, with Slik he’d gone for the shit deal and there was a price to pay. He took the shit deal, went to number one and then, a year later, punk happened. So he started a band, PVC2 who released one single – ‘Put You in the Picture’ – which got nowhere. His manager moved to America and opened up a club called Visage. I think taking that shit deal taught him a very big lesson and I think he said, “You know what, I am a star, I have got a lot of talent, I’ve got a lot to offer, and I’ll probably get a lot further if I just take it at a day at a time”. So, he was a lot wiser than me and others because he’s already had his moment in the record industry.

You introduced Midge to Billy Currie and pushed for him to become the next lead singer in Ultravox to fill the gap left my John Foxx. What did you think of Ultravox, both with Foxx, then Ure? When thing I noticed about your Blitz play list is that you played lots of Ultravox tracks, in fact far more so than any other band.

They were absolutely pioneering. I loved them. Don’t forget, the first Ultravox album was produced by Brian Eno. I mean come on. Then later they were produced by Conny Plank. Fantastic.

I presume you saw them many times live?

Yeah yeah. But, you know, when everyone is going one way, there is always someone going the other and you can be ridiculed for it. Ultravox were being marketed by Island Records as a punk band when they were not a punk band. They did release a single called ‘Rockwrok’ but that wasn’t them. That was not what they were about. Then they lost their guitarist after the second album.

Steve Shears.

Yeah. By the time they got to the third album the record industry – i.e. the press – didn’t know what to make of them either. They were a bit like XTC. You know, what the fuck were they? Ultravox songs like ‘My Sex’, ‘Hiroshima Mon Amour’, ‘Quiet Men’ and ‘Dislocation’ were amazing. They also brought out white vinyl 12” singles – it was something to do with the cut; the records were so powerful on the deck. I really loved mixing those records. They really made people dance.

Did you think Ultravox were one of the more significant electro-pop bands of the time?

Oh yes, I was a complete fan. I saw Ultravox before they had a record deal with Midge. We went to LA. They played at the Whiskey a Go Go club in Hollywood. They played two shows a night and on New Year’s Eve I played ‘King’s Lead Hat’ on guitar which was one of our favourite Brian Eno songs. I did the sound for them on the mixing desk because I was the only bloke who knew their music at the Electric Ballroom before they got their record deal. I just loved their music. And don’t forget that when Midge joined Ultravox, they went from a five or six piece – John Foxx lead singer and five musicians – to just four. And Midge played keyboards, and he played the guitar and he did the singing. And don’t forget, I created Visage with Midge from the bands Magazine and Ultravox – the two avant-garde punk bands. By the way, I thought John Foxx’s solo album – ‘Metamatic’ – was also fantastic. And I loved Japan and Talk Talk. I saw Talk Talk at the Embassy Club, but the lead singer’s ears…

Mark Hollis.

Yes, his big ears put everyone off, but what a voice.

Midge has commented that the Rich Kids broke up because he bought a synth which split up the band between those who wanted to go down the electronic route and those who didn’t. He stated that you and he went off with the synthesizer and did some demos which would later become the basis for Visage. Which songs did those demos become?

That synth was a Yamaha. Believe it or not, but one of those demos became ‘The Dancer’ from the first Visage album. The other one was ‘In the Year 2525’.

That was a cover version, wasn’t it?

Yes. Then there was another one which Steve wanted us to do, but none of us liked it. We also did Ronny’s ‘If You Want Me to Stay’. Ronny is an androgynous girl I found in Paris. Everybody thought she was a man and the song – ‘If you want me to stay, I’ll be around some day to be available for you’ – it’s like the transvestite burlesque show. That was Midge and I, Barry Adamson on bass, and Dave Formula on keyboards. Beautiful song.

Billy always had an amazingly distinctive sound with his ARP Odyssey. Did you all encourage that sort of sound? I’m especially thinking of tracks such as ‘Tar’ and the rather interesting ‘Frequency 7’.

I loved him more for his violin. My idea for an ideal band was a mix of magazine and Ultravox with Steve Strange and Boy George. I wanted to bring nightclubs alive with the musicianship and ambience created by Magazine and Ultravox.

Some music critics have suggested that ‘Fade to Grey’ is the greatest British electro-pop track of the period. What do you think?

Nah. I’d put Vince Clark in there with all that pop stuff.

Ok, what would be your top five most significant electro-pop records?

No, no, you’ve got to understand something. What did ‘Anarchy in the UK’ mean as a song? It was the voice of an entire revolution of the music industry taking the power away from the record industry who were fat cats from Mars – Mars Bars. One minute they were selling Mars Bars, the next minute they’re selling pop music. Sex Pistols came along and it was bye bye. Right? ‘Fade to Grey’ – which is what our life was – “Just go away. You have no future. You’re a nothing. You’re a nobody. Just get a job in a factory in a Thatcherite Britain while a certain amount of us will have the meat off the bone”. With ‘Fade to Grey’, we weren’t political. We were trying to be a positive message. Spandau Ballet were the face of New Romantics. Boy George became the icing on the cake. The geniuses of the 80s would probably have been the Eurythmics, it may be also Trevor Horn; but Visage were basically a night club DJ (me), some musicians from my illustrative past (Midge and the rest of the boys), and some twat from the toilet or the cloakroom.

I’ve hard you say in an interview that, “Visage were a creative roller coaster which I told everyone to get on, but then I fell off”. Can you elaborate?

Well, I tell everybody about everything that I think is brilliant, but I don’t take advantage of it and profit from it. I did a party for Depeche Mode and Daniel Miller of Mute Records had just made £45 million. He arrived in a limo with a cigar – it was like something out of a movie. I was a DJ for £500 quid or something because I’m friends with the band. He’s spent the last twenty years going to the office every day building up new records, supporting Barry Adamson, supporting artists he really believed in. But I don’t spend my life going to the office every day. I spend my life going, “Hello girls”. I was there for Adamski, I was there at all the raves, I was there for Seal, I took Seal to Trevor Horn – I’ve been there for years for lots and lots of people, giving people advice, promoting things – none of this means that I’m going to become a fat cat with a big cigar. It’s still just music.

Related to this then, is it true that you and Steve were not included on the Visage contract? Do you get any royalties?

No, no, I am, I am. I always was. I’ve just got a few problems trying to collect record royalties and what ‘they’ are trying to say is can I produce my 1981 agreement? Well, why do I need that as everyone else is being paid? I need to know.

John McGeogh was guitarist on some of the first Visage album, but why was he needed when you already had Midge on guitar?

As I said, I loved Magazine and I loved Ultravox.

Wasn’t there a class of guitarists?

No, because they were completely different styles.

Why did John, allegedly, see Visage as a bit of a joke?

Because Magazine were very serious. Then the Armoury Show were very serious. Everyone was very serious about their art. A lot of bands become like an organisation and they have their whole itinerary printed out for them. Visage didn’t have a manager. We had a production deal with Midge’s manager.

Was that Chris Morrison?

Yes, Chris. We just booked the time and then went in and made the record and that was it. Every now and again we did a John Peel session or something.

Who chose the title for the second Visage album – ‘The Anvil’ – because that was the name of a New York gay club which was particularly infamous for acts with dildos? Was it Steve?

Yeah, it was Steve because we were a club band and we loved the gay nightlife.

It’s a very gay album isn’t it?

That’s what we were trying to do.

There was a fair bit of media controversy with the album title wasn’t there?

With the black leather? Nazi-chic. We were all fans of German film noir: ‘Metropolis’. We were into the Kraftwerk hard image.

Were you always so filmic because you did used to play soundtracks in those early club nights?

Yeah. For example, I used to play the main theme to the movie ‘The Warriors’ by Barry De Vorzon, the Blade Runner theme by Vangelis, stuff by Morricone, Walter Carlos and so on.

Which of those two Visage albums do you prefer?

I think there both equally as good. Obviously we didn’t have a ‘Fade to Grey’ on the second album, but that’s the end of it. I thought ‘Damned Don’t Cry’ was a good effort.

‘Night train’?

Nah. I like ‘Whispers’ off ‘The Anvil’.

When did things start to go wrong in Visage?

As I’ve said, we didn’t have a manager. When we completed the recording of the Visage album, it was before Ultravox’s ‘Vienna’ was recorded. We couldn’t get a record deal. We put out a single – ‘Tar’ – and we were not taken very seriously. Spandau Ballet were playing in the club and various celebrities; so we were having this real success, but where’s the fucking record? Chris Morrison came with a kind of take it or leave it offer. In my own life, this offer caused a rift that took a long time to settle. The offer stated that Midge produced the album, and Midge and Billy wrote ‘Fade to Grey’ – the offer was to take it or leave it. It wasn’t to include me or Steve.

Steve once commented that he should have been credited on that track because he came up with the idea for your Belgian girlfriend to talk on the song which is, perhaps, not a good enough reason to be included as one of the composers.

Filed under: Interviews, Music, Old Friends Electric by Flexmaster Nylon
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