The Alarm, 1983

In tribute to Mike Peters

Mike Peters in 1991. Photo by Jules Peters.

I was sorry to hear that Mike Peters, the Alarm’s lead singer, has died. I interviewed him once and he seemed like a really nice guy. He has certainly inspired a lot of love, from what I’ve been reading in recent days.

Here’s a particularly poignant tribute from his friend, Tony Fletcher, Wordsmith.

There are several reviews of the band in my cuttings book: I think this was the first time I saw them. I had, of course, seen Mike’s previous band, The Toilets, at Eric’s in Liverpool. Coming from North Wales, they were almost local. I last saw Mike playing in the punk supergroup Dead Men Walking with Pete Wylie and Glen Matlock.

The band arrived at this 1983 gig straight from recording Top of the Pops, where they were promoting their first hit, 68 Guns.

THE ALARM

THE VENUE, LIVERPOOL

Melody Maker, October 15 1983

WOULD you believe the guitar can stun at a hundred paces? ... an acoustic guitar?

"We were miming earlier on but this is for real," shouts one of The Alarm: if this is reality I've been dreaming for the last four or five years. The Alarm on stage are, quite simply, extraordinary. Whether that's good or bad is difficult to say - my numb senses haven't started working again yet.

I don't believe I've ever seen such an explosion of energy, or such an instant transformation of atmosphere. One moment the club was jammed with silent disgruntled figures all too tired of waiting (as the band made their way from London and the TOTP's studio) even to show impatience, and the next moment a shock of sound from the stage struck the audience and instantly transferred itself into movement. Not the usual massed bounce, but a vast flux of activity - an uncontainable kinetic interpretation demanding unrestricted space.

Music of this type can be stirring, but it left me shaken. I'd anticipated something fairly lively but this kind of intensity was bizarre. The overall effect was more like being at a heavy metal event than a punk gig (peace signs were flashed at the stage) or perhaps a mixture of both. Yet there was no tribe. Despite the similarity of response every one of those dancers remained an individual. And there was no pose.

Yet it's not just an assault. After they've played the first song five or six times (just to make their mark) there's a few changes in pace, and a few additions like harmonica and acoustic guitar. The songs are carefully structured with strong simple melodies, lyrics which are unusually clear for this volume, and unexpected musical twists that mean they don't sound like anybody else. (The Clash now are present only on the roadies’ T-shirts and in some of the vocals.)

Too shocked still to fully register the subtleties behind the power, I noted only that if someone could harness just the right proportion of that energy, such a thing as a brilliant Alarm record should be possible. The Alarm should stimulate not just stun. At the moment I don't think they know their own strength.

Watch the Alarm

And here they are on Top of the Pops. The song still sounds great.