Paul ‘Rhino’ Ryan talks about the history of this band…
I broke dear Roddie Gilliard’s heart when, in 1992, I
decided I had to leave The Muffin Men, of whom I was a founder member,
to pursue the rock dream offered by Bullyrag. They were rough as fuck,
and quite brilliant in parts. Robert Awork and Stewart Boyle had been
playing and writing together for a couple of years, but didn’t have any real
songs. Mike Cusick, formerly of Empire had joined just before I
did, and Stewart Kershaw (OMD et al) was playing drums, but he was
committed to some tour or studio work with OMD, so they needed a replacement.
Bullyrag had a room upstairs at the Palace in Wood Street, which they
paid for by selling weed to all the other bands in Liverpool, they were known
as Bullychong by most people. My audition was a jam lasting about two hours, we
played different grooves and bits of their stuff. They liked my playing
so I got the job.
Across from our room was BOD promotion’s office, they were responsible for
loads of great gigs around Liverpool at that time. Martin O’Shea, who
went on to manage Atomic Kitten and The Real People, and Andy Chalk, a
former roadie with Madness heard the band and expressed an interest in managing
us. We had some discussions and they put us on the bill at the 051
supporting Big Audio Dynamite. Fucking great!!! Our first gig was
to a capacity audience at one of Liverpool’s top venues. Martin and
Chalky talked us round and we signed a basic management deal. We got
booted out of the Palace for playing too loud, and not paying any rent!
We moved around various rehearsal rooms in town, and ended up blagging a room
downstairs in the old Ministry in Manchester Street. If we weren’t
rehearsing, our days were spent ligging around the Pink Museum recording
studios, bumming food off the bands there. Hambi Haralambous, (the owner
of Hambi and the Dance fame) heard our stuff and offered us some
recording time. We did a three track demo, which was largely written as
it was recorded.
Martin worked a masterstroke by letting only one or two A&R men hear the tapes,
and never let anyone keep a copy. This was a (then) totally new sound,
raggamuffin reggae with rock rhythms and funky bass lines. The record
companies went bananas trying to get to hear us, but we weren’t gonna do any
poxy showcase gigs, hoping these tossers were gonna grace us with their
presence. Instead we let them know that if they wanted to hear us they’d
have to come to Liverpool to our rehearsal room and pay us up to 150 quid to
hear us, then take us out for a meal afterwards. All of the majors went
for it, as did many of the independents. Nathan McGough of East West was
bang into it, and came to see us a few times. Most heads of A&R came
to see us in fact. Barney Cordell of Island records was also blown away,
and got in touch with his dad, Denny, who was at that time president of Island
in the USA. Denny passed the tape onto Chris Blackwell, who wanted to,
but couldn’t get to the UK to see us. If the mountain won’t come to the
Mohammed... Two weeks later we were on a plane to Miami Beach, as Mr
Blackwells’ guests, chilling out in his gaffe The Marlin Hotel. We stayed
for ten days, and played in a little club to Chris and the heads of Island
worldwide. We had to get home though, as we all had to sign on!!!!
Blackwell wanted to sign us, and negotiations continued with Denny Cordell back
in Liverpool. They, and Peer Publishing paid for a new demo with one of
their top producers, Clive Martin to be recorded at Parr Street studio one. We
had a high level meeting at the Atlantic Tower over a meal, where Denny set out
his vision for the band with projections and forecasts all neatly worked out.
He asked Martin and Chalky for their figures. Chalky called over
the waiter and asked for a serviette and a pen. He started scribbling
some nonsense. Denny saw his arse and asked why they weren’t prepared.
We watched him leave, never to be seen again. The party was well
and truly over. I think it’s a bad move to fuck about with those people,
and the phone went very quiet, I think our attitude, which must have seemed
quite gung ho at one stage was crumbling. The band went from heroes to
zeroes pretty much overnight.
Life got tough. We went back to rehearsals and got some “normal “ gigs,
to half empty rooms full of half interested punters. Stewart, however,
got himself a break. He copped off with a Canadian woman who had recently
divorced her brain surgeon (no shit) husband. She was brewsted. He
moved into her flat in Lark Lane and got himself a habit (if you know what I
mean), and an even worse attitude problem. One famous quote was “I’ve got
my deal lads, when are you getting yours?” Stewart tried to take over all
control of the band, but I was having none of it. We had relentless
arguments and came to blows a couple of times. I left the band at the end
of 94, to go back to the Muffins, who had fallen apart on their nine week tour
with Ike Willis.
That was that, you would think, but no. Bullyrag got Steve Barney, now
playing with Annie Lennox on drums and Dave Goldring on samples and percussion.
Dave had been my roadie previously. They got signed to Mercury and
Sony publishing and released the Songs of Praise album, featuring many songs I
had co-written. I wasn’t overly arsed, but I had lent the band some money
in the early days and phoned them to ask for it back. Stewart told me to
fuck off and not contact them again. I decided to sue them for my share
of royalties. After a seven year legal battle Sony and Mercury paid me a
substantial out of court settlement and Bullyrag were never heard of again.
Shame really, they had loads of potential, and Robert was a great writer.
Contributers:
Paul Ryan
This page was last updated on 25.12.06
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Bully
boy has been shot!
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