I have a confession to make.
Despite being in the age bracket that I think people refer to as “of a certain age” – read as: closer to 50 than 40; closer to 60 than 20 – I kinda missed Leatherface the first time around (1988 – 1993). In fact, I’m reasonably certain that I not only “discovered” Leatherface sometime after I started writing for Dying Scene in 2011, which was not long before they disbanded A) a second time and B) for good. And if I’m being COMPLETELY honest, I’m also relatively sure that I first dipped my toe in the venerable waters after first diving into Frankie Stubbs catalog after getting to write a handful of stories about his Little Rocket Records releases and tour plans and all that. It was then and only then that I learned that this band that I knew was held in such high regard by bands whom I held in such high regard – bands like Hot Water Music and Samiam and Gaslight Anthem – was held in such regard for a reason. The band hits like a sledgehammer. They’re also a classic case of “why wasn’t this band intergalactically massive?” except that in hindsight, they were probably too “alternative” for mainstream punk and too punk rock for mainstream alternative and Frankie’s heartfelt lyrics and gruff, vaguely Lemmy Kilmister-esque vocals probably were just a little too unique to propel the band into the stratosphere they rightly belonged in, meaning they were destined to be a linchpin band in the scene. As MacDonald points out, “Leatherface is a band that was destined for something greater than their cult status.”
But wait, this isn’t a review of Leatherface, the band. Instead it’s a review of Chris MacDonald’s wonderful and unique and new and probably long-overdue book Days And Days: A Story About Sunderland’s Leatherface And The Ties That Bind. The Ontario-based punk rocker and tattoo artist takes a compelling approach to chronicling the life and times of your favorite band’s favorite band. It would have been well within his right to start at the beginning and tell the respective stories of Stubbs and Hammond and Crighton and Lainey and The Eagle and Philliskirk and Burdon and the remainder of the crew that filled out the respective lineups and how they cut their respective teeth in Sunderland and beyond and that would have been wonderful. It would have been equally within his right to compile a series of stories from the likes of the Hot Water Musics and the D4s and Samiams and the laundry list of artists whom the Sunderland legends have influenced in myriad ways over the decades. In fact, MacDonald does a commendable job of doing both of those things simultaneously.
What sets Days And Days apart from your traditional band biography book, however, is the personal context that MacDonald adds to the story. Woven throughout the stories about the band’s history and influence are stories of MacDonald’s own history, particularly the mid-to-late 90s, which was a time period that saw the band itself initially split up and reunite half a decade later after Crighton’s death. Like many of us who are “of a certain age” and had punk rock delivered unto in the early 1990s, MacDonald fell fast and hard and the music matched his energy. His initial ‘discovery’ of the Leatherface in particular – also after their initial hiatus – was not unlike the experiences that many of us had for bands that became OUR bands. It was an introduction not just to a band and a sound and a poetry that was like no other, but a stronger connection to a community at large; the beginning of an understanding of the ways that many of us relate to and communicate with one another.
The other central thread in the book is an epic journey that our storyteller and his friend and fellow punk rock aficionado Jason (not me) embarked on a quarter-century ago. Over the course of seven weeks in the summer of 1999, the two went on an ambitious journey from London to Dublin. By way of most any mode of transportation you can imagine and with little in the way of a formal plan in the days before widespread cell phone and internet access, the duo wound through places Leeds and Manchester and of course Sunderland and Edinburgh and Glasgow and Belfast and Donegal. There were several pivotal Leatherface-involved moments along the journey that I won’t spoil for you here, but suffice it to say that the trip would test not only their individual mettle and the bonds of their friendship, but like the process of quenching and tempering steel that took place in the gritty ship-building towns like Sunderland, would prove to strengthen their identities and their connection to the scene at large.
The book itself is quite a bit of a journey to embark on. Most of the individual chapters are brief and the individual threads are woven back and forth throughout the tapestry, and if you’re not paying attention, you might get yourself tied in knots trying to remember which timeline we’re on. The venture is incredibly worthwhile though. If you’re a fan of Leatherface (or Franke Stubbs solo I suppose) the band history as ‘peasants in paradise’ is riveting. If you’re just a fan of the scene in a broader sense, you can insert your favorite pivotal band in Leatherface’s place and no doubt identify with the fandom aspects and appreciate the level of import that the music builds in your life. And frankly, if you’re a fan of travel stories – albeit ones written twenty-five years after their journey – it’s a compelling tale of struggle and the increasing knowledge of the self that said struggle can build in us as humans.
MacDonald’s book is available at all the normal booksellers. Obviously buy from a local place if you can. As an added bonus, you can also catch Frankie Stubbs and Graeme Philliskirk together again in Roach Squad, alongside Sim Robson and The Murderburgers’ Alex Keane and the one-and-only Hugo Mudie. They put out a few tracks last month on Little Rocket Records (obviously) and they rule.
