Dydh da, onen hag oll.
Today we are speaking to Jak Stringer. An ambassador for music in Cornwall, as well as spoken word & theatre. In the following interview, we will be exploring Jak’s legacy, particularly, Dirty Sunday’s.
Key:
J = Jak Stringer
Q = Question
Studio Bar was a venue on Bread Street, Penzance
Q: Did you have a history of putting on shows prior to Dirty Sunday’s? And how did they come about?
J: I’ve been putting on shows for about five years before those. But, in the 80s, I used to manage local bands, and get clues from them. So I’ve been involved with music before. And even if I go back further than that, my father used to put on very creative music shows in the 1960s Flower-Power nights. So I knew that you could do things like throw petals over people and do things a little bit different with gigs. I’ve been putting on shows since about 2000’s. The Studio Bar, Admiral Benbow, YMCA…
But it also really kicked off when I saw Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly at The Acorn. And I was inspired by SW1, which is absolutely wonderful people from SW1 who really, really sort of brought music to the fore in Cornwall, and I met someone there called Luke Leafield, an act there, and he kept messaging me saying we all need to come down and play Cornwall. So I set up a gig at the Godolphin, Marazion. And, and then when he came down to that, he said “you should start music promotion.” He said, “You look after people, and you’d be quite popular amongst artists coming down.” So yes, started from there.
And so I’ve done lots of gigs and during that time I managed a couple of local bands. But I wasn’t really cut-out for managing bands really. That can be quite an intense relationship. And I sort of found that you… You’re never thanked for being a manager.
I used to go to the Great Escape in Brighton, which was a wonderful three days. I first read about it in the NME. On Sunday I suddenly saw that one venue was doing a Sunday afternoon session, for picking up all the people that have been at the festival and I thought, “What a great idea for a Sunday afternoon gig.” And another thing that happened around the same time was that I went to Jersey for a festival. I found this place called the Live Bar. It was three floors and it catered for everything. The whole place was painted black. It had pool tables on one floor, a bar in the bottom and at the top there was a venue and they had some amazing bands there. They were probably the first hardcore bands I’d seen. Obviously I’d see metal before, there were a lot of metal bands in Cornwall. There was a band called Fallon Nancy Horsepower, and another band called Shatterproof Rulers, and they were getting into like boiler suits and it was just incredible. It was very intense in this dark venue. And I thought this was fantastic. So really that whole thing Sunday. Noisy, dark gigs, and I thought that I’d like to do that in Penzance. Until then I’ve done some gigs with my brother.
Putting on gigs is quite a terrifying thing to do. Because you could potentially lose a lot of money. It’s not about that, you just want people to come to them. My brother got too nervous. And he’d always say: “is it going to be alright?” and I go: “Oh Pull yourself together! Of course it will!” So in the end he left so I was on my own. So I thought I’d get together with Tom Weeks, who I knew from I Say Marvin, at that time, and he was just back down in Cornwall. And I said to Tom “I got this idea for putting on some really cool gigs on Sunday afternoons.” And I have got a criteria for them, I want under-18’s to be there. That’s important. And we can do that because it’s a Sunday afternoon. I wanted people to be able to use public transport. So afternoon gigs, you know, make sense. I will have some food there. So some people who were drinking alcohol, we’re also sticking some food in them so they’re not getting too drunk. And I want… An audacious amount of bands playing, you know, for one afternoon. We’ll keep the costs down. And instead of stamping people on the hand when they come in, we’ll stick decorated pegs on them. So, that was the plan.
I went to see Alex at the Studio Bar (Alex Rutherford), who’s a fantastic guy and said this pitch to him. And the very laid-back Alex said: “yeah, we’ll give it a go.” So we put together for the first four Dirty Sundays to sort of trial it out.
The first one had a reasonable amount of people there. Wasn’t packed. But it was a nice amount. It was okay, we brought hundreds of Pasties in. (My husband, Colin, had to be eating pasties all week afterwards…) I think that one probably lost money… And then the next one, it started picking up. So by the time we got to the fourth, which sort of coincided with the Christmas period, and they were really packed, I think people started talking. Then, we had to come up with some more line-up. And that was quite easy, because people would make suggestions to me.
I even had a situation when I was at work one night. There was a telephone call from me at work. And it was a band from Manchester who had tracked me down through ringing at various venues in Penzance. And someone had been able to tell them where I worked. So they were able to get the number from my work. And, they contacted me, and they were willing to come all the way from Manchester, just to play that one gig, they were called Cowards. (They were fantastic.) All the whilst, I still tried to keep it so it was a mixture; it became more hardcore, but I wanted it to be a mixture of punk-grunge. I think we still maintain that slightly by having things like the Black Tambourines, Lost Dawn, joining the line-up, and we’d four/five/six bands on the bill. We just had the best time really, it was just so much fun.
Q: Was there a rule-book of how you were going to create a Dirty Sunday? Or did it develop naturally over time?
J: I had a clear vision right from the start. I didn’t want any security there. If there are any issues-I’ll deal with it myself. And I knew I’d have Jamie and Colin there. I didn’t want anyone coming in heavy. Especially, if we had under 18’s there. But, obviously we didn’t want people getting to lairy. We have to look after them as well.
I didn’t want it to look like the Studio Bar when people came in. So I painted a load of banners. I got lots of lots of black material, and painted fluorescent paints and Dirty Sundays. And I would make these huge banners. I used to make individual ones for the gigs with all the band’s names on, which would be quite fun.
One of the best Dirty Sunday’s we had was when the Good Time Boys first came in and played there. They were a really intense band.
The only time we changed the formula was we had an acoustic Dirty Sunday, which we did upstairs in the sort of conservatory area of the Studio Bar. It was early December, cold night, we had lots of candles and, and lots of really sort of edgy acoustic acts as well. And people started to ask if they could have DIY stalls. That was the other lovely thing that happened. It was organic. That wasn’t part of my idea. People started to chip in. People wanted to bring distro’s, wanting to sell music. Little crafts and so on.
Q: What were your internal outcomes of these events? Were you thinking financially, or about the experience people had?
J: It was more about the people. I was working then so I could take a hit. When people saw packed shows, I think they may have thought that I made a lot of money! I would make sure the bands were paid well. I also would supply them with goodie bags, which they loved. It was just like the children’s love of having been given a sack with Dirty Sunday written on. There would be some beer in there, and they’d be given food and little gifts and things like that. So each band would have their goodie bag to take. I would have a budget for it. But if I broke even that was quite good.
I quite just liked seeing people having a really great time. You could almost say I did it for myself – it was to pride myself upon, it was something to do on a Sunday. I don’t know how I fitted it in now with a full time job as well really.
Q: How did the audience react to the shows?
J: I am a great believer that the band and anyone that plays music at all, probably theatre as well. You’ve got a responsibility as an audience to give as much as the band’s giving, it’s a two way thing. So one doesn’t work without the other. Band’s put in their best performance if the audience is giving that much commitment. People really threw themselves in it.
I always remember with the band Kasa… Porter had his leg in plaster once. It was right the way up to his all the way up to his top of his thigh. Somebody picked him up to crowd surf him, and his leg couldn’t bend because of the plaster. And he got caught up in the light where the stage lights were as he was surfing. Everyone got excited, and worried as well because we thought he might be electrocuted! But because it was only LED lighting, it wasn’t really gonna do much. But he still believed that he had sort of got some sort of shock from it.
One of the things that really helped was… It was a time when there were so many people taking photographs of gigs. After a gig there used to be so many photos, wonderful photographs, and I guess Andrew Ford was one of the main ones from that. And he entered probably the end of 2011. He entered a shot from a Dirty Sunday in the NME’s Photographic Award, and I remember I was on the train. And he rang me up and he said “We’ve made the shortlist for the live gig event.”
We were up against a photograph of Florence And The Machine live at The O2 Arena. Which was up against the Little Studio Bar in Penzance. And then Andrew Ford won it, which then gave him a feature. So he was employed by the NME after that. But they did about 5-6 pages about music in the South-west, which featured like Plymouth, Dirty Sunday’s and all that, which was really, really cool and nice to have some photos in the NME.
Q: I remember a big text across the spread that said “Cornwall’s not all about Pasties & Cream!”
J: That’s right. That’s right. So, the next Dirty Sunday, we had a load of scones, jam and cream, because we already had pasties. So we thought, ‘yeah, it is actually!’ And I remember my Mum and Dad coming in the middle of the Dirty Sunday and handing out scones and cream to everyone. I’ve got some marvellous photographs of that.
Q: Was there any impact after being featured in the NME? Did more people turn-up, bigger acts ask to play?
J: There was no impact. You always think ‘This is it! This is? Yeah, big!’ There’s that seminal moment. But it was really your 15 minutes of fame. Well, Colin always says that I must have carried that magazine around for about a year afterwards saying ‘Oh, look at this!’ It was really thrilling.
There’s very few women that do promotions. Music promotion is very, very much a man’s world. And because I’ve always been called Jak, started by my parents. If people who didn’t know me, just thought I was a man.
Q: How did you find that world? Going into a male-dominated entertainment environment as a woman promoting, arguably, quite testosterone-fuelled music?
J: Yeah, it was, yeah, it was quite hard actually. The main thing is when you’re going to an agency to book a band, and you’re dealing with hard headed managers. But, you get bands say ‘We’d love to come and play with you, get in touch with our agent’ and, of course, you get in touch and they go ‘What’s your offer?’ And that’s it. So then you’ve got to come up with something, and then there’ll be this Argy-Bargy. That was quite hard.
I felt that was quite difficult to deal with, because they’re getting the best deal for their person/band, of course, but they were always incredibly rude. But I guess I’ve always forged on. You tend to get other promoters, they try to sort of tell you how to do it, you know. I just made it up as I went along, really. I guess I’m quite confident.
The other thing is I’ve got a terrible memory. I’ve got a sort of learning difficulty, I suppose. Where my sort of short memory doesn’t quite tip back into my long term memory very well. I hardly remember anything about my childhood, my brother has all my memories. So he’ll remind me.
Unless it’s something huge that happened. My memory is really poor. So which actually really works in music promotion, because if people have been dreadful to you, you’ve forgotten. Colin or Jamie used to say to me ‘you’re not putting that band on, they’ve let you down twice before by pulling out at the last minute’ and I go ‘Have they?!’. So that was it. I think it’s not a difficulty, it’s probably a blessing. So you don’t dwell on the bad things for too long, because I can’t remember them anyway.
Q: Speaking of the music at the time, predominantly, what you’re putting on was within the scope of punk-hardcore. Was that a natural inclination?
J: When I first started, it was mostly folk I was putting on. Contemporary folk and indie stuff because that was of the time. I’ve always liked punk music. Chris, I like all sorts of music. I go to classical concerts. I’m not a champagne socialists. I go to classical concerts, I go to folk. I like all sorts of music. I’m constantly listening to music at home. But we’ve got an Alexa and I just think it’s wonderful, you can just tap into any music you want. I know it’s not great for bands. And they tell you how much… I think we listened to 40,000 different bands or something last year.
We listened in the morning as soon as we wake up. We have four nights a week where we dedicate ourselves to that. So I like to think I’m still fully in it.
The other thing that came out is if I had a Cornish stage at The Great Escape for five-years running, which was also great fun, because I didn’t think Cornish music represented there. So, I first I think for two years I did it at the Fitzherbert’s in Brighton. And then for three years I did it at the Prince Albert, we used to give out passes there and we mixed it with some Sussex bands, Brighton bands, and we called it South-by-South-East. We just thought it was quite a funny take on the American festival. So it was in the programme. And I remember being contacted by the main chap who was putting on The Great Escape. And he said ‘The American festival is on their way over here on the plane and they’ve seen the programme. You’ve got to change the name of your event. They’re really furious.’ And we just thought ‘well it was only a joke. It wasn’t like we just thought it was… It wasn’t done with any evil thoughts, or trying to rip their name off.’ We just thought it was a bit of a joke. So that caused a big problem.
Q: What happened? Had it already been printed into the programme?
J: Well, there was not a lot we could change to be honest. Never-mind that. I think it was really lovely to showcase some Cornish brands up at The Great Escape.
Q: How did you organise a stage at The Great Escape?
J: You could set up a fringe event and then you paid to go into the programme. So you pay to be in the programme and they accept you. You have to find your own venue. You’ve got to cover the costs yourselves. You don’t get any funding. I think for four years the Godolphin, Marazion hotel, they used to give me enough money to give the band some travelling expenses, which was important and also pay for the listing. And then I think one year, DBS music helped. And so we went up from there. We did the fifth year of the Great Escape up to the 10th year. So and then after that, my circumstances changed, so I wasn’t able to do it anymore. And it was just the same with most music events.
So, I wanted to just have punk bands and even mix them with folk bands. You know, for example, I might have had a punk band on with Patrick James Pearson, who was definitely not punk. But I just thought because of the ethos of it, that there is a common ground. But it did coincide with the Hardcore scene, which was up and coming.
I guess now when you look at it, the Hardcore scene was intense, but it was actually quite short period. Sadly, in a way, it’s now become a niché thing like heavy metal. It’s almost like you create something and you’ve got this small, intense group who love it and then all of a sudden it gets more popular, people don’t actually like that so much because you want it to be niche for you and you’ve discovered it and then when you find it, there’s loads of other people who also like it, it’s not so niche anymore. So it was an intense time. But, then it passed.
When I decided to end the Dirty Sunday’s, I think people were quite surprised because they were still very popular. However, I had already noticed that people were phasing in and out. It’s like when a new place opens, venue or whatever, you’ll find it’s full to begin with, and then it’ll start drifting away because people think ‘Well, I can go to that anytime. There’ll always be another Dirty Sunday, I don’t have to go to this one.’ Whereas in the early days, people wouldn’t miss one. So I just thought now is the time to kill it. Because I don’t want it to just drift.
Q: Whilst this was going on, you were in the late-era of MySpace, and relatively early-era of Facebook. Did you use those as platforms for Dirty Sunday’s online awareness?
J: Yes, it was MySpace when we started, which was wonderful. I always thought MySpace was the site. I’m so sorry they meddled with it, and spoiled it. It gradually faded away and Facebook took over.
When Facebook started, it wasn’t really, it wasn’t music orientated at all. I mean, and it’s still not really the main thing, now. But, MySpace was marvellous, so you could actually find bands. If I was going on holiday to France or Spain, you can easily find yourself a punk gig over in Spain just by searching through the area. It was marvellous. I saw some great bands in those countries that I would never have seen without MySpace. I don’t think social media was what it’s now like back then.
I think word of mouth was the best tool. I think that’s your big audience draw. It’s a useful tool to spread the word, because people can share it. And even posters-because obviously in the old days, posters were the only way you had to do it. So yeah, word of mouth primarily.
Q: The first ever Dirty Sunday. Who was there, and how did it go for you?
J: It was really fun. My Elvis Blackout was there. I know that my husband’s band The Venton-Gimps played.
The other day, I found a book. Which with all the bands in. I checked it in the bin actually. It had all my funny little plans for it. I’m afraid the dustbin man has taken it now. Well, you know you gotta move on to these things. I was never one for keepsakes. I know that my friend Frank who puts on gigs, fantastic chap, he really really was wonderful in chronicling all his gigs. I didn’t write anything down.
How did I feel about it? I loved it. I loved all my gigs. And that was the one thing quite often you go to gigs and you see the promoter running around and not very happy or they’re standing outside not listening to the music. And I used to stand on the door when people came in to pay their three pounds. And I used to think ‘well, I’m not going to stand on the door while there’s my bands playing. I’m going to watch my bands.’ Fortunately, I’m pretty good at knowing who hasn’t paid. So I’ll just go up and say “oh, yeah, you must have come in afterwards. I’ll have three pounds, please.”
Q: Was there a gig highlight that really stood out? One that embodied what you had worked towards?
J: I think Dirty Sunday Summer Festival.
We were at the Ritz in Penzance, a much bigger venue. And lots of stalls, lots of T-shirts for sale. It was going to be all-dayer, we had a ridiculous amount of bands. I still got the banner for that it was huge. About the size of this wall. I used to take up my carpet in the front room at home, and stick material to the floor and paint on it. And underneath my carpet is still all the stains from bands written on the floor. It used to be absolutely mad.
There’s a there was an American band playing Boardmasters, Newquay, called Gay for Johnny Depp. And they wanted to do some other gigs. The problem was that we couldn’t advertise their name because they had it as part of their Boardmasters contract. So, they were just added to the bill as a mystery band. They took the same fee that all the other local, smaller bands did, which was absolutely marvellous.
I always remember they stayed at the London Inn, Causeway Head, which is one of our more characterful pubs of the town. They were just so impressed. They just thought it was marvellous there. They were wonderful American lads.
During the very first song, the lead singer ran back onto the stage and some hit his face on the drum kit, and broke his nose. His nose was bleeding hugely, but it was so dark. He was still running in the crowd and playing. At the end of when they finished, and the lights went up a bit. Everyone was covered in blood from this guy’s nose. I think the t-shirt stalls did really well, because everyone needed a new t-shirt.
One of the things they said was, they said ‘We used to have this place like this in our town in America. You’ve got to remember to cherish this because it won’t go on forever. This will just be a small moment of your time. So just enjoy it.’ And this is true, because I suppose my legacy… So if I’ve got any legacy at all, is that you always sort of go up a notch in peoples estimations when people are looking back in their memories.
Recently, Tom Weeks came down. I bumped into him on Mazey Day. And while it was raining, we were in a pub and he said, he says it doesn’t matter where he is in the country, if he bumped into people from around that time, they’ll always end up talking about Dirty Sundays. That will always crop up in conversation. And I just thought, well, that’s absolutely marvellous.
Q: Just before I visited my first Dirty Sunday, people said it was created by a mystical person called The Godmother of Punk. Have you heard of this name before?
J: (Laughs) At least it wasn’t The Grandmother. No, I hadn’t. That’s marvellous.
Q: For me, being under 18 at the time, to be able to enjoy music that I liked, with public transport options was a game-changer. The warmth of the event. It made for the best Sunday, you know?
J: It was warm, wasn’t it? Yeah, it was just warm. The whole thing was like when you walked in there you felt you’d become part of a community. I mean, we’re currently here at Morrab Library, Penzance. A lad came in the other day, and I bumped into him. And I remember he said he used to come when he was 13. He’s now a paramedic. He said that he couldn’t believe that he could go to something like that at that age.
The other aim was to mix local bands with bands from up-country so that local bands would have a link and they could get gigs up-country. So, we were creating a network for bands from down here as well.
Yeah, it’d be nice if people think well of you. And, I think also, when some of the people get a bit older, they start to realise how much work it takes to create this sort of thing. And, and I think when you’re younger, you just think, Oh, it must be something quite easy, so everyone thinks promoting is quite easy, but it’s not.
Q: If someone was to promote a show, inspired by this conversation, what advice would you offer them?
J: Be honest with your band about what they’re gonna get, and what you expect.
The main thing is: enjoy it. Don’t do it cynically, I think back in that time, there used to be some things that some people thought ‘There’s a lot of money to be made out of this.’ Never go with that attitude. Like most things in the arts really, isn’t it? You can’t go with the attitude that you’re going to make money out of it. If you break even, it’s absolutely marvellous, if you get your bus fare home, it’s even better, isn’t it? But, go there to enjoy it. Don’t try not to be frightened or worried. I think you can lead from the top. I think if people think you’re enjoying your own gig, then it improves it for everyone else.
And always run on time! I’m a real stickler. I don’t know if you’ve heard of a record label called Alcopops, I don’t know if he will listen to this. Years ago at The Great Escape. When there were multi-venues, you needed to be on time. His acts were always late on, which would make it mean that you’d miss the next gig. And I remember going up with him and I told him off. I said ‘You’ve got to run this on time. There’s other gigs to go. People expect to see other acts.’ And then later I contacted him afterwards and said ‘What a cow I am. I’m sorry about that.’ He goes, No… And then years later, he said to me ‘that really put me on track. I learned from that. It never occurred to me before.’ And I remember going to see one of his plans. And he was actually thrown out of his own venue at The Great Escape. The bouncers threw him out of his own gig. The crowd surfing taboo.
Q: Were there any acts in the Dirty Sunday Wish-List that perhaps did not align with time?
J: I didn’t want to have bands that were too big. Because I didn’t want to have a star of the show. I wanted everyone to have equal billing. Oh, and the other thing is I wanted people to get there for the support bands. Not just turn up. I expected people to arrive on time, I suppose. Which they did.
Q: Present-time, you’re engaging in theatrical works. Looking back, did you see the performance of punk music as theatrical?
J: Oh, definitely. Oh, yes, that’s right. They have to create that edgy atmosphere where you think anything could happen. So, yeah, it is a theatre. I mean, I came like I said my dad used to put on bands, I lived in pubs all my life and right from the age of three, I used to sit and watch The Red Rockers rehearsing, so I was used to seeing the sort of theatre of bands. Like I said, my dad used to do these Flower Power nights. So, yes, it is a theatre, I don’t think there’s a lot of difference. I guess. Once I knew that Dirty Sunday’s were over, I carried on doing other gigs after that.
I was probably doing about seven gigs a month, because I was booking bands for the Studio Bar. And other bands, different types of music. It wasn’t a paid job. I didn’t get paid for doing it. The Studio Bar would have a set fee, and I’d be able to book whoever I liked.
I mean, bands like, I’ve got to mention Brunel from Plymouth. The passing of Jim, I spent the whole day crying and everything even now I still think of him. I definitely feel like I want to do something for men’s mental health, that’s definitely on the cards for me for my next gig, to do something there. I was playing Head of Programmes just yesterday, I played the two albums. So that was very sad. I don’t know how I got there just then. I think I just, I was thinking that him? Where were we, Chris? Remind me.
Q: Coming to a close now. You spoke earlier about creating a network for bands, both locally and afar. Did it provide you with a network of new friends? Are people from this time still in contact?
J: Um, I would say I’d say no, not not hugely. I mean, Frank, and I still get together. I go across on the train, and we’d still meet up. I bump into people. But I guess, what do they say? The seven phases of your life? Where you like different things? I think that was a wonderful phase. And now I’m in the theatre-y bit, and who knows what’s next? It’s definitely going to be interesting.
I said to my brother, ‘I think there’s gonna be a big change in April 2023. I said, I don’t know what it is yet.’ And my brother said, ‘Oh, my God. I’m not sure if I’m frightened, or I can’t wait.’
But now, I think apart from bumping into people, I think that’s completely gotten that part.
Q: When attending Dirty Sunday’s, your parents were always there. A mainstay of the warm environment. Would you be happy to talk about their involvement?
J: Yeah. Because my parents had always been in the pub trade, they knew about bands. I mean, my Mum went to see Paul Jones, the singer in the 60s. And it was in the time when the people were just going from suits to wearing T-shirts on stage. I remember her coming back saying that he raised his arms and you could see his tummy—it was the biggest thing ever. So they had an idea of what I was getting into. They were always very contemporary parents, you know, I suppose eccentric, eccentric really completely. And not long after that my parents delivered scones. My mum got cancer that was quite sad, although she’s absolutely, you know, stuck on it right till the end. My dad got Parkinson’s and vascular dementia, but still a man who used to love listening to the Gorillaz, you know, even in his 80s, he knew about modern music. You couldn’t fit him into a box really as an elderly gentleman. Even when he was in his late 80s, if I said to him, actually, we’re going to see a punk band tonight you would go ‘okay!’ He wouldn’t have battered an eyelid. He’d follow me into the jungle, really.
Although the lockdown for COVID was pretty hard, it provided me with a wonderful time with my dad going through some stuff. We sort of transcended, I think, parent and child relationship and we just became friends, you know? So that was that.
They were both very supportive of anything I did really, they wouldn’t have been shocked if I said I was going to, I don’t know, be a stripper, I suppose. Or go to the Moon, they just say ‘Go on, fine. Do you need a hand?’
In fact, talking about the theatre when I was a kid, I suppose I had the sort of childhood that I’d probably be taken into care now. Because I was involved in so many things in the pub, I mean, working behind the bar when I was quite little. I saw how people were my dad used to have sort of funk nights, you have this jukebox which I’ve still got all the records he’s got his record collection from like 1962 to about 1982 and hundreds of jukebox records. He used to buy in American funk and my dad is featured in like the M-shed in Bristol. They had an exhibition where it was the most influential sort of scenes in Bristol music history. What my dad created for the funk scene, which was linked into you know, Massive Attack.
It’s sort of like family history. My dad’s probably gone into the archives more than I have! And he didn’t, he didn’t even know that—he didn’t last long enough to know that that had happened, you know? So, yes. They were parents who were great fun. Yeah. That is it.