Reuben Burroughs, Head of David

I’M PRETTY sure this is actually the worst interview I’ve ever done.

The content, written by the lead singer of Dudley industrial metal band Head of David, who’d recently signed to Blast First when we did this postal ‘interview’ in 1987, is not uninteresting in itself – there are one or two truly off-message moments – but with a brief that appears to have consisted of ‘just go through the alphabet and talk about your favourite things that start with each letter or something’, the poor guy was up against it.

Even worse, I clearly ran out of time when I was putting the magazine together – ie Prittsticking, Letrasetting and photocopying idiotic shit onto pieces of A4 – and just pasted a bare transcript onto the page and handwrote an introduction in biro. This is laughably amateur, even in the context of fanzineland, but it’s also a shame because the rest of the magazine had a bit of style to it. No, really.

IMG_9264

I’m not sure if Justin Broadrick was playing drums for Head of David at this point but I didn’t get to talk him. Skillz.

I’ve always despised heavy metal – obviously – and I think I tired of Head of David’s stuff pretty quickly, although some of it doesn’t actually sound that bad today. Either way, the whole thing just about represents the nadir of my interviewing career. Or it, would do, if I wasn’t still trying to pull this kind of shit.

I don’t know what to say to you.

Attenborough, David. Aerosmith (Gods of rock n roll).

Beachcombing, the ultimate holiday, particularly in autumn with waves and hurricanes blasting away. Blockbusters.

Cars. Crosswords (I’m a prescribed addict). Cactii. Countdown (Channel 4, weekdays, 4:30pm).

Darts (I play for hours. I’d love to enter a major competition. I’d rather play darts than rock n roll). Dale, Beatrice.

European Eagle Owls. Large and majestic. Perfectly sociable. Good for the following ..

Falconry. I get to handle birds of prey regularly. Highly intelligent and fascinating. Buzzards are responsive but unpredictable. Ferrets, not for flying.

Geology. The best places on earth are those untouched by man. Georgina from Grange Hill.

Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. Not particularly novel to tout the old HD moniker these days, but my interest is genuine. Hall, Darryl (my fave vocalist).

Interviews, not exactly a favourite pastime of mine. I’d prefer not to talk to journalists but, sadly, I’m not Prince yet.

Jackdaws, a close relative of the magpie. I was recently attacked by two magpies. They meant it.

Keeping fit. Karate.

Lust with chunky girls. Lowe, John (arrow king).

Marty di Bergi, the greatest documentary filmmaker of all time. Micro-Lite gliders. Mexico. Motorbikes.

Naturalism. I make no apologies for being a naturalist. This is to be distinguished from Greenpeace / animal rights activity, which I take no part in.

Oral probings. One on One, Hall & Oates.

Privacy (I like mine). Polecats, gutsy things.

The Queen. She is fantastic.

Running, rambling, reading, rock, racing pigeons, rutting, romance, reptiles, rain.

Survival (the TV programme). Scott, Selina. Stockings, preferably worn by girls. Spiders. Spinal Tap. Steely Dan. Sun terrain. Smith & Jones.

Tangier (good times in this Moroccan sleaze pit a couple of years ago, highlight being sailing around the Barbary (North African) coast. Travelling being another fantastic T.

Underwear, women’s.

Vultures, the silent masters of Extremadura.

Weightlifting (beyond feeling good). Walking (until the skin of my soles peels off). Whitesnake 87, album of 87.

Xenogamy.

Yaws, very rare in the UK.

Zonked by Zoe.

HOD

[This interview was first published in Airstrip fanzine in 1987]

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