Crystal Passion Ch. 14

Both Crystal's and Judy's parents preferred that their daughters be buried rather than cremated so the final moments of the funeral weren't of two coffins sliding inside a furnace and being incinerated. Instead a procession of hearses snaked out of the funeral home and wound through the roads and avenues of Rock Hill to Crystal's final resting place at the Forest Hills Cemetery. I was a mess of sorrow and tears during the whole drive. The brief respite I'd had from my grief by the need to comfort Marianne abandoned me now that there were others, including Crystal's father, who'd taken on the role. It was Andrea who once again shouldered the burden of comforting her sister as we processed towards the cemetery and the already excavated rectangles of soil into which Crystal and Judy would be separately buried.

I knew very little at the time about the conventions and customs associated with funerals and wasn't at all sure what was the right thing to do. I'd seen in movies that someone or other was supposed to throw something into the open grave, so I tossed in a linen handkerchief that Crystal had once given me. However, nobody else followed my gesture and I still regret having lost this small memorandum of Crystal's life.

The funeral wasn't as private as any of us would have liked. How could it have been? All of North and South Carolina, or at least those in the Charlotte metropolitan area, were interested in witnessing the final chapter of the Catawba River Murder (or the River Park Lynching or the English Rock Star Double Homicide). And there were those, I'm sure, who believed that Crystal deserved to die for the sin of being a godless lesbian atheist who shamed the moral rectitude of York County, SC.

There was a modest coterie of photographers who followed the funeral procession all the way from the exit door of the Joseph Armistead & Sons Funeral Home to the Forest Hills Cemetery. Although they kept a respectful distance, I could still hear the distant click of camera shutters as I bent my head down in memoriam. However, not even Polly has suggested that it was the relentless hounding of the press that had brought about Crystal's death. It might have worsened the generally sour atmosphere in the weeks and days that culminated in her tragic murder, but Crystal had escaped press attention sufficiently enough for her murderers and Judy's lynchers to remain unknown, undiscovered and free from the penalty of justice right up to the present day.

My enduring hope is that someone somewhere in Rock Hill or the Charlotte metropolitan area, almost certainly middle-aged and possibly balding, is now feeling sufficient remorse for his role in the rape and murder of the woman Polly Tarantella deems the greatest performer of popular music since at least the 1970s that he will come forward to the Rock Hill PD and hand himself in.

And with the funeral over, there was no longer a reason to remain a moment longer in South Carolina or the United States. So at long last (and after far longer than any of us would have chosen) we could set off for Charlotte Douglas International Airport and fly back to the United Kingdom.

I don't believe a single one of us was sorry to leave America behind.

Not that our arrival at Heathrow was especially auspicious. Or particularly anything much. There were no paparazzi or reporters stalking us on our return. In fact, it was pretty much as we'd hoped. The tensest moment was the wait by the carousel for our luggage after which we strolled unhindered through the green channel and then by Piccadilly Line on the long tube ride home.

It wasn't that our tragic American tour hadn't been news. It just wasn't the sort that would justify a press stake-out or more than a few column inches in the middle pages of a family newspaper. Sure there'd been obituaries for Crystal Passion in the Guardian, the NME, the Wire and Smash Hits, but I got the impression that the tribute writers got their information directly from our label, Gospel Records. There was a brief mention of Crystal Passion's murder on Have I Got News for You in which more effort was expended in explaining to Ian Hislop what a Riot Grrrl was than on any insight into Crystal Passion or her music. It was obvious that what interested the British media wasn't that a couple of almost unknown musicians had been murdered but that it took place in South Carolina which, by virtue of being one of the original Confederate States, was therefore the home of racism, religious bigotry and mind-blowing ignorance and stupidity. There is nothing that the British—in particular, the English—like more than to feel superior to a nation of straw-chewing, cross-burning, negro-lynching hicks.

A few radio plays of our songs, most particularly by the likes of John Peel and Mark Radcliffe, piqued interest in our music and this led to an early peak in our CD sales, which the hurriedly mixed and marketed posthumous fourth album went some way to satisfy. Although I still think The Last Word is the least satisfactory of Crystal Passion's albums, including her first solo acoustic album, it is the biggest selling.

"So, who's still active in the Crystal Passion Band?" our manager, Madeleine Tartt, asked when we met her in a small coffee shop near Paddington Station. I was accompanied by Tomiko and Jacquie while Madeleine had her chunky well-thumbed Filofax ever close at hand.

"Andrea says she won't have anything more to do with the band," I said. "Without Crystal, my sister says there's no point in the band continuing."

"OK," said Madeleine. "Who else is there?"

"Philippa and Bertha have become an item and they're travelling the world together," I said. "I think they might be in India or Armenia or somewhere."

"I don't think Olivia's interested in sticking with the band either," said Jacquie. "Not if Jane's still playing..."

"And are you and Jane still in?" asked Madeleine.

"Only if Pebbles keeps it together," said Jacquie, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Jenny Alpha's living with Olivia now," I said. "So, if Olivia's left, then I guess Jenny has too. I don't know where Thelma is, but I don't think she'd be keen to be involved in a Crystal Passion band without Crystal. And I'm pretty sure the same goes for the Harlot."

"So, let's do the sums," said Madeleine, mostly addressing me. "If we assume that you stay in the band, and Jane and Jacquie too, then all we're left with is a trio. What about you, Tomiko? Do you want to work with Pebbles and the two sisters?"

"I'd do anything to keep the memory of Crystal Passion alive," said Tomiko with startling conviction. "It's what she deserves."

"So what we're left with is a rhythm section and a sound engineer," said Madeleine. "Can any of you sing or play guitar?"

I shook my head.

If the three of us were to keep alight the flame of Crystal Passion we'd be more likely to emulate Underworld or Portishead and pursue a career on the dance floor, while I'm sure Madeleine would prefer we followed the examples of Joy Division after Ian Curtis committed suicide or Genesis when Peter Gabriel left (though I don't think Jane would relish being the band's Phil Collins).

"So, what do we do now?" Madeleine wondered. "There's an album to be released and I know that Ben from Gospel records would like some remnant of the Crystal Passion band to be out there to promote the record and even go on tour. But I don't think even Ben would be so enthusiastic if all that appeared on stage was a rhythm section with no lead singer and no lead guitar or indeed any lead instrument whatsoever."

"I don't see why not," sniffed Jacquie. "What about Booker T & the MG's? What about the Shadows without Cliff Richard? What about almost every fucking House and Techno crew you can think of?"

"That's not gonna work, Jacquie," said Madeleine. "The album's got a singer and a guitarist on it. In fact, it's got three singers and two guitars. There's gonna be some pretty pissed-off punters if they go to what they think is a Crystal Passion gig and what they get is the Chemical Brothers."

"There's my friend, Steph," I said.

"Steph?" wondered Madeleine. "Who's she?"

"She can sing and play guitar."

"And where is Steph at the moment, Pebbles?"

"She plays with the Palms, a sort of alt-folk group, but I don't think she's doing anything much at the moment. In fact, I don't think the Palms are active at all these days. It's hard for them to find gigs, especially in London."

"She's untried and untested, Pebbles," said Madeleine. "It'd be a heavy burden for her to take on the role of Crystal Passion. Are you sure she's up to it?"

"I could ask her..."

"Well, we don't have many options left," said Madeleine. "I'm getting the very real impression that if your friend Steph can't rescue Crystal Passion then the band has already played its farewell concert."

I pretty much agree with Madeleine. The last real gig as Crystal Passion—that is with the eponymous band leader—was that first engagement at the Penitence Club where Judy Dildo was the real driving force. What I'd prefer to remember as the final Crystal Passion gig was the first one at the Sisterhood Women's Music Festival where she was accorded so much respect and adulation.

And no way was Steph a replacement for Crystal. The best that Stephanie Dickens could be was a surrogate Crystal Passion: able to do the job but never able to match the real thing.

But Steph was available and, what's more, she was thrilled to accept the offer. It was a huge step forward for her. The Palms weren't really getting anywhere. They hadn't been signed to a record label and I don't think any of their original songs were either especially original or even particularly good. But Steph could definitely sing, even if her voice was more a bluesy mezzo-soprano. She was also an accomplished guitar player, at least as good as Crystal in a technical sense. She could also play piano, but as I was already the band's keyboard player this wasn't the role we wanted for her. And she knew all Crystal's music, especially the songs on her singer-songwriter debut album. However, although I'd known Steph since before going to university she was more my sister's friend than mine. She and Andrea often practiced playing music together in their respective bedrooms: Steph on guitar and vocals and Andrea on the fiddle.

At the time I thought the music they played was flimsy and dreary with absolutely no beat or rhythm, but I'd probably rather enjoy it if I heard it now.

Steph did as well as she could to fill the lead role in the much diminished Crystal Passion band. In fact, she was probably the most professional and dedicated of any of us. I don't think Jane, Jacquie and me really had our heart in the enterprise. Crystal Passion was dead and every time we played one of her songs (and all the songs were hers), what we all heard in our heads was Crystal Passion's voice and Crystal Passion's guitar whereas what we were actually hearing was Steph's voice and guitar.

And there were several occasions I collapsed into tears during rehearsals when I recalled how Crystal used to enthral me with her voice and her enigmatic lyrics and her idiosyncratic tunes.

The final tour of an outfit called the Crystal Passion Band wasn't what I'd call a huge success even though it attracted larger audiences than we'd ever had when Crystal was alive. The quartet we now were was not the ten-piece band that performed on The Last Word. There was no equivalent to Judy's electric guitar or the backing vocals from Thelma and the Harlot. There was none of Olivia's crazy percussion or Andrea's ethereal fiddle or Philippa's soaring saxophone.

Tomiko did her best to help fill the vacuum. There is a cliché that the sound engineer is a proper member of a band, in our case the fifth member, but Tomiko was truly worth two or three of the rest of the band. She had the imagination and technical skill of a top club DJ and the ability to squeeze out more sound than could be expected from a quartet. I was now able to properly appreciate Tomiko's role when we were a ten-piece band where she managed to balance the weird mix of instruments into a pleasing whole and admired her ability to somehow fill the space of ten instruments with just four.

I loved Steph for her commitment and energy and, as the tour continued, I came to love her in a much more physical way. She and I were soon lovers in a kind of distant echo of the love I'd previously felt for Crystal. Steph was very different, of course, and not just because she'd never dream of taking her clothes off on stage (though she had no such reservation in the bedroom). She was tall, she was slim and her hair was short and enticingly boyish.

Inevitably my relationship with Steph (which outlasted the Crystal Passion band by several years) resulted in the band's final demise. Jane and Jacquie became increasingly less tolerant of what they came to view as infidelity even when they shared the same bed as us. And Tomiko didn't want to be caught between the fury of the two sisters and me and Steph however much she enjoyed making love with all or any of us whenever and wherever it might happen.

"I understand, Pebbles," Madeleine said, mid-way through the tour when I announced that the Crystal Passion band would cease to be after the final gig. "Steph's good. Very good. Much better than I dared expect. But she ain't Crystal."

More's the pity, I thought, but I was too loyal to my lover to say anything disrespectful. "Perhaps you could manage Steph in a different capacity," I said. "Perhaps as an artist in her own right."

"I'll see, Pebbles," said Madeleine, but she was obviously reluctant to do so. It was Crystal Passion that Madeleine wanted to manage and with Crystal dead, she no more than anyone else could see the point of the band carrying on any longer.

Steph did find a manager, but one who better understood the alt-folk scene. She went on to play as singer and guitarist with many other bands: including the River Bank on whose records she's sung duets with John River. But Steph wasn't a talented composer and never made much impact as a solo artist. Although we lived together for nearly a decade, she never understood or appreciated House music or Drum & Bass or Techno or any of my club-oriented musical obsessions. She supported me as best she could when I released my own records, but it was always a mystery to her how I could prefer electronic beats and samples to the beauty of an acoustic instrument and an unmediated human voice.

I sympathise with her taste in music more now than I did when we were lovers. In any case, when we were living together it was a point of pride that we keep our spheres of musical taste apart. But even now when I hear a piece of music by Bob Dylan or Nick Drake or Joni Mitchell or Leonard Cohen I always speculate on how I'd boost the sound and add a drum beat, rather as the Source did with Candi Staton. But it wasn't musical differences that drove Steph and I apart.

It was the love of another woman and in this case it was Steph's love for a girl called Sandra. And it still hurts when I reflect on the fact that Sandra is ten years younger than me, that she's sylph-like slim and has a tin ear. For fuck sake, she even listens to Mumford & Sons! And she watches fucking X Factor and Britain's Got Talent. How can Steph have got it so totally wrong?

After this short-lived postscript of a Crystal Passion Band, there was little more of note in the band's story for the next few years. The boost in sales of the Crystal Passion record catalogue following Crystal's tragic death soon trickled away. In fact, in the coming years, record sales shrunk to virtually nothing. The corpse of her music was occasionally jogged into life by radio plays in America, Britain and Europe. But while CD and vinyl sales fell off, it was the arrival of the World Wide Web and the eventual legalization and subsequent growth in music downloads that brought Crystal Passion's music to the attention of those who otherwise would never have heard it and had no prior notion of how it should be classified.

Polly Tarantella's discovery of Crystal Passion and her music didn't happen out of the blue. There were others who'd re-discovered her legacy long before Polly (and hadn't necessarily paid a penny to download it) and some of them loved the music so much they created websites to share their appreciation. Soon there were Twitter accounts to link her new fans who lived in countries as far afield as Russia, Korea, South Africa and Argentina.

When the internet was young and the top search engine was AltaVista, all I'd ever found were bizarrely incoherent references to 'Crystal Passion' on embarrassingly amateurish home-made websites. But Olivia tipped me off that I should have another look and this time when I entered 'Crystal Passion' into the Google search engine I discovered page after page of links to blogs, forums and online articles and reviews all celebrating Crystal Passion. Although most entries were in English, there were other languages that I recognised such as French, German, Spanish and Italian, but also those written in alphabets I couldn't read such as Chinese, Arabic and Cyrillic.

Weirder still for me to read were the countless references to 'Pebbles', a name that had become more a private nickname than a stage-name in the years since I'd played in the Crystal Passion band. And somehow this 'Pebbles' had become celebrated as the band's second most significant member. This might have been a result of my abortive attempt to keep the Crystal Passion band alive, but mostly from the entirely accidental fact that almost all the surviving photographs and film of Crystal Passion featured me in a rather more prominent position than I probably deserved. It might also have been because I had a memorable stage name that was still well-known thanks to the endless re-runs of The Flintstones on television channels across the world.

It was probably no surprise that the growing online interest in Crystal Passion should lead to XL Records deciding to buy the distribution rights to the otherwise deleted back catalogue still officially owned by the now defunct Gospel Records. So, overnight, Crystal Passion became a member of the same staple as Adele, FKA Twigs, Gil Scott Heron and the Prodigy. As someone who'd been a fan of Hardcore and Breakbeat in the 1990s, I was pleased that I'd now become a member of the same label that had released Liquid's Sweet Harmony.

Interest in the music grew to the extent that Pitchfork, Quietus, NME, MixMag and even Q featured articles on what was forever described as the 'unclassifiable' music of the 'tragically deceased' Crystal Passion. It was on this wave of enthusiasm that Polly Tarantella's best-selling biography was published and further increased interest in the band. However, what was most important about Polly's championing was her mission to define Crystal Passion as the most significant music phenomenon since the arrival of Punk and New Wave in the late 1970s. In essence, her thesis is that popular music needed a saviour and that saviour is Crystal Passion. And it's only when you start thinking about it that you realise how bonkers this contention is.

My own view is that Polly's manifesto is compelling to so many people because there's a widely held belief that nothing of significance has happened in the world of Rock and Pop since the 1970s. All you've got to do is skim though the popular music magazines, especially those dedicated to Rock Music, and it seems that everything of importance was happening in the 60s and 70s. Record sales are still dominated by the likes of Elton John, Pink Floyd, David Bowie and the Beatles. Nobody seems to care about the intervening decades. If you browse through magazines like Classic Rock, Rolling Stone or Q, you'd be convinced that music of any worth simply stopped being recorded after 1975. So, the assertion that this grand tradition has now been resurrected from the grave has great popular appeal to a lot of people. And this is especially so when the contemporary pop you hear on MTV and daytime television is either astonishingly banal or incredibly derivative.