That guy is Alex Harvey, and this, his first biography (I’m pretty sure) goes some way to explaining why that affection remains. It’s because Alex grew up tough, working class when that really meant something, no airs and graces, sharing a shithouse with a hundred-odd people in the Gorbals. His dad worked, briefly, as a doorman at the legendary Apollo in Glasgow – years later Alex would sell the place out, playing to his own people. The audience must have felt like they were watching a relative or friend; only they didn’t have to pretend he was good because he actually was.

It didn’t happen just like that, though, this isn’t a rags-to-riches story. It’s more rags, then brief fame, then rags again. In fact, reading this book leaves you feeling a little angry on the departed Alex’s behalf. This is the guy born in the same year as Elvis, who must’ve thought his luck was in when he won a Scottish competition to find the next Tommy Steele in the 50s. But no, his proto-Pop Idol victory counted for little. The book throws some light on Alex’s other pre-Sensational experiences – stints in Germany, his Soul Band, the Hair band – none satisfactory, none coming close to fulfilling his potential. You start to feel his frustration. A complex character, into comic books, war, a pacifist with a tough turn of phrase, and a man with big ideas; he was set for something, but the path wasn’t to be smooth.

Even when he finally gets his success in the mid-70s, it seems to be the wrong kind. A great live band, with Harvey a born entertainer and brilliant interpreter of other artist’s songs (listen to ‘Next’, and his ‘Delilah’ pisses all over that Welsh muppet’s) they never hit big in the record sales. So, when punk hits, and the SAHB go the way of the dodo, Alex is left hunting for a new band and giving away tickets to another, less triumphant Apollo gig. Soon he dies – just as his tragic brother Les did - on tour.

Of course, so far, this is more like a review of Alex’s life, but what else can it be? What about the book? – well, it manages to overcome the initially worrying lack of co-operation from some key players such as Zal Cleminson and Maggie Bell, and the input from some of the talking heads is refreshingly honest (thankfully, the word ‘genius’ isn’t thrown around like confetti). Alright, the author claims Harvey as a punk, but every biography author whose subject is pre-76 does the same, so we’ll forgive him.

Munro’s book sticks to the basics and does what it should do – sheds lights on Harvey’s life, makes the reader feel for the subject, and plants a desire to hear more of Harvey’s music. Which is what you should do. Listen to the shit-hot cover versions, and the stirring original stuff like ‘Anthem’, and enjoy the weirdness of Harvey’s world, and the stirring defiance in that Weedgie accent…

(Oh, and the cover photo is a classic.)

Iain Bahlaj lives in Fife, Scotland. His short stories have appeared in Front & Centre, Fife Fringe, Chapman, Pulp.net and The Macallan Shorts 3 and 5. His novel, 'Tilt' was published in 2003 (Pulp Books, London). The short story 'Sugar' is a prequel to 'Tilt.' Iain currently works as a night-shift shelf-stacker, while working on a novel about vampires, in this spare time.

© 2004 Laura Hird All rights reserved.