Glad To Be Greg

My daughters have called him 'Mr Hedgehog' for the past ten years but the foot soldiers of punk know the guy as Greg Cowan, mainstay of The Outcasts, singer, scowler and long-time supporter of the peroxide industry. While many part-timers from that era quickly gave up on the ethos, the sounds and the hair gel, Greg has been essentially true to his adolescent self. So while he has prospered in his business life, being a punk is what he has always done best.

This was apparent when Greg started performing with Shame Academy, a compendium of local musicians, playing the tunes of the time. And the circle advanced some more this year when he reformed The Outcasts with brother Martin and drummer Raymie. The old firm was supplemented by Brian Young (Rudi) and Petesy Burns (Stalag 17).

So I was naturally present when they played at The Empire last week. The music was loud and tenacious, and many of the tunes have not dimmed. Terri Hooley was the DJ and loads of veteran fans had paid to go hopping around beneath the stage. Many were bald but beaming, prone to shaking their thickening limbs in a approximation of those rowdy dance shapes. The band played 'Just Another Teenage Rebel' and the irony was dispersed by a more joyful accord.

I watched from the safety of the balcony, and when things had calmed down I decided to take a comfort break. The stairs led me close to the stage, so I moved forward to take some close-up photos for posterity's sake. However, the blamming rhythm and the fierce guitars excited me. I started to dance, and presently I was slam-dancing with the tribe.

It was plenty fun, but the dance floor was wet and my sense of balance may have deteriorated. I lost my footing and made an absurd, pantomime fall, amusingly slow. I was mildly alarmed that I might get trampled on, but my peers saw the possible danger and helped me up. I was scrambling for my spectacles, which had gone flying, Eric Morcambe style. No damage, thankfully.

Was I ashamed? Not terribly. I finished the dance, got my visit to the lavatory and then returned to the balcony. A top night's entertainment.

Falling over, y'see, is the new standing up.