Pete Shelley has died

Oh no.

Pete Shelley.

Buzzcocks singer Pete Shelley dies at 63 - BBC News
Buzzcocks lead singer Pete Shelley has died at 63 of a suspected heart attack.

45233_pete_shelley.jpg




Link to Morrissey's cover of "You Say You Don't Love Me" by The Buzzcocks posted by Surface:

 
Last edited by a moderator:

mozmal

Beastly Little Parasite
RIP Pete Shelley. This man was hugely influential in the 70s punk movement. He and Howard Devoto were years ahead of the pack by releasing Spiral Scratch on their own label, and more importantly promoting the legendary Sex Pistols gigs at the Lesser Free Trade hall in Manchester, which as we all know influenced several important figures in the Manchester music scene.
 

g23

Always crashing in the same car
I can't help but think of my first marriage when I think of the Buzzcocks. I didn't want to marry this woman, but through family pressure on both sides,
and a shoulder shrug on my end, I found myself in Las Vegas, with a date with an Elvis impersonator the next day. Yeah, it was tacky, it was a little trashy,
but enough about my ex wife.

It was hotter than balls, and I was resigned and weary, tired of the strip and all of the flashing lurid disgusting excess
that it represented, and so we ended up just walking as the sun set, and finding a dive bar called the Double Down off of the strip.
I was intending to get not just drunk, but blotto, shit-faced, obliterated. As I walked in, Ever Fallen in Love? was blasting on the jukebox, and I couldn't help but note the irony of the situation I found myself in, 1000 miles away from home in the disgusting hot desert, in a town that smelled of piss and desperation.

I started drinking. Hard. Meanwhile, someone in the bar had chosen the entirety of Singles Going Steady, and one Buzzcocks number after another played.
I remember laughing at the fact that instead of "Mens" or "Ladies" on the restroom doors, they had life size portraits of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy
painted there, and the toilet paper was secured to the wall with a chain. The bar's special was a concoction called "Ass Juice." I felt at home in the squalor.

We filled an entire round cocktail table with shot glasses and cocktail glasses, dead soldiers containing the dregs of my future regret, and I puked the second I got back out into the heat. That was the high point of the entire trip, and as I rode in a cheap stifling limousine with a pounding headache and guts full of acid the next morning, all I could hear in my head was "Ev-er fallen in love with someone- ever fallen in love- in love with someone- ever fallen in love- In love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

We had our date with Elvis, and somewhere around here I still have a DVD of the wretched awkward tacky ceremony, even though I left the ex wife behind seven years ago. Even though the ceremony was trash, and the four years of marriage were trash, the drunk the night before was golden, and it was thanks to the Buzzcocks.

puke-insurance.jpg
 
Last edited:

Ketamine Sun

<><><><><><><><><><>
PETE SHELLY

YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN





THANK YOU FOR YOUR MUSIC
 

Eustace Walks

Well-Known Member
Hopefully Moz has something nice to say about Pete - always sad when someone goes before their time, and 63 is too young. I was always a big fan of the electronic stuff Shelley did solo, post-Buzzcocks. "Telephone Operator" and "Homosapien" are brilliant synth-pop songs and I recently acquired the 12"s, whose mixes are - needless to say - exquisitely of the time. Thanks, Pete, for the music :)
 

Eustace Walks

Well-Known Member
I can't help but think of my first marriage when I think of the Buzzcocks. I didn't want to marry this woman, but through family pressure on both sides,
and a shoulder shrug on my end, I found myself in Las Vegas, with a date with an Elvis impersonator the next day. Yeah, it was tacky, it was a little trashy,
but enough about my ex wife.

It was hotter than balls, and I was resigned and weary, tired of the strip and all of the flashing lurid disgusting excess
that it represented, and so we ended up just walking as the sun set, and finding a dive bar called the Double Down off of the strip.
I was intending to get not just drunk, but blotto, shit-faced, obliterated. As I walked in, Ever Fallen in Love? was blasting on the jukebox, and I couldn't help but note the irony of the situation I found myself in, 1000 miles away from home in the disgusting hot desert, in a town that smelled of piss and desperation.

I started drinking. Hard. Meanwhile, someone in the bar had chosen the entirety of Singles Going Steady, and one Buzzcocks number after another played.
I remember laughing at the fact that instead of "Mens" or "Ladies" on the restroom doors, they had life size portraits of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy
painted there, and the toilet paper was secured to the wall with a chain. The bar's special was a concoction called "Ass Juice." I felt at home in the squalor.

We filled an entire round cocktail table with shot glasses and cocktail glasses, dead soldiers containing the dregs of my future regret, and I puked the second I got back out into the heat. That was the high point of the entire trip, and as I rode in a cheap stifling limousine with a pounding headache and guts full of acid the next morning, all I could hear in my head was "Ev-er fallen in love with someone- ever fallen in love- in love with someone- ever fallen in love- In love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

We had our date with Elvis, and somewhere around here I still have a DVD of the wretched awkward tacky ceremony, even though I left the ex wife behind seven years ago. Even though the ceremony was trash, and the four years of marriage were trash, the drunk the night before was golden, and it was thanks to the Buzzcocks.

That's an amazing story - I loved it
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
I can't help but think of my first marriage when I think of the Buzzcocks. I didn't want to marry this woman, but through family pressure on both sides,
and a shoulder shrug on my end, I found myself in Las Vegas, with a date with an Elvis impersonator the next day. Yeah, it was tacky, it was a little trashy,
but enough about my ex wife.

It was hotter than balls, and I was resigned and weary, tired of the strip and all of the flashing lurid disgusting excess
that it represented, and so we ended up just walking as the sun set, and finding a dive bar called the Double Down off of the strip.
I was intending to get not just drunk, but blotto, shit-faced, obliterated. As I walked in, Ever Fallen in Love? was blasting on the jukebox, and I couldn't help but note the irony of the situation I found myself in, 1000 miles away from home in the disgusting hot desert, in a town that smelled of piss and desperation.

I started drinking. Hard. Meanwhile, someone in the bar had chosen the entirety of Singles Going Steady, and one Buzzcocks number after another played.
I remember laughing at the fact that instead of "Mens" or "Ladies" on the restroom doors, they had life size portraits of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy
painted there, and the toilet paper was secured to the wall with a chain. The bar's special was a concoction called "Ass Juice." I felt at home in the squalor.

We filled an entire round cocktail table with shot glasses and cocktail glasses, dead soldiers containing the dregs of my future regret, and I puked the second I got back out into the heat. That was the high point of the entire trip, and as I rode in a cheap stifling limousine with a pounding headache and guts full of acid the next morning, all I could hear in my head was "Ev-er fallen in love with someone- ever fallen in love- in love with someone- ever fallen in love- In love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

We had our date with Elvis, and somewhere around here I still have a DVD of the wretched awkward tacky ceremony, even though I left the ex wife behind seven years ago. Even though the ceremony was trash, and the four years of marriage were trash, the drunk the night before was golden, and it was thanks to the Buzzcocks.

View attachment 46729
Always knew you were an idiot! Thanks for that the confirmation
 

Amy

from the Ice Age to the dole age
I can't help but think of my first marriage when I think of the Buzzcocks. I didn't want to marry this woman, but through family pressure on both sides,
and a shoulder shrug on my end, I found myself in Las Vegas, with a date with an Elvis impersonator the next day. Yeah, it was tacky, it was a little trashy,
but enough about my ex wife.

It was hotter than balls, and I was resigned and weary, tired of the strip and all of the flashing lurid disgusting excess
that it represented, and so we ended up just walking as the sun set, and finding a dive bar called the Double Down off of the strip.
I was intending to get not just drunk, but blotto, shit-faced, obliterated. As I walked in, Ever Fallen in Love? was blasting on the jukebox, and I couldn't help but note the irony of the situation I found myself in, 1000 miles away from home in the disgusting hot desert, in a town that smelled of piss and desperation.

I started drinking. Hard. Meanwhile, someone in the bar had chosen the entirety of Singles Going Steady, and one Buzzcocks number after another played.
I remember laughing at the fact that instead of "Mens" or "Ladies" on the restroom doors, they had life size portraits of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy
painted there, and the toilet paper was secured to the wall with a chain. The bar's special was a concoction called "Ass Juice." I felt at home in the squalor.

We filled an entire round cocktail table with shot glasses and cocktail glasses, dead soldiers containing the dregs of my future regret, and I puked the second I got back out into the heat. That was the high point of the entire trip, and as I rode in a cheap stifling limousine with a pounding headache and guts full of acid the next morning, all I could hear in my head was "Ev-er fallen in love with someone- ever fallen in love- in love with someone- ever fallen in love- In love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

We had our date with Elvis, and somewhere around here I still have a DVD of the wretched awkward tacky ceremony, even though I left the ex wife behind seven years ago. Even though the ceremony was trash, and the four years of marriage were trash, the drunk the night before was golden, and it was thanks to the Buzzcocks.

View attachment 46729

Wow. What a story. So you had a feeling from the start that it was doomed... I can't imagine being in that situation. I think I'd want to get blotto, too. I wonder what was going through your ex-wife's head at the time - do you think she knew you felt like that? Four years married seems like quite a while, in those circumstances.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
Everyone dies but me, so not fair at all!

But I suspect I have cancer and a heart problem so I keep my fingers crossed.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
I can't help but think of my first marriage when I think of the Buzzcocks. I didn't want to marry this woman, but through family pressure on both sides,
and a shoulder shrug on my end, I found myself in Las Vegas, with a date with an Elvis impersonator the next day. Yeah, it was tacky, it was a little trashy,
but enough about my ex wife.

It was hotter than balls, and I was resigned and weary, tired of the strip and all of the flashing lurid disgusting excess
that it represented, and so we ended up just walking as the sun set, and finding a dive bar called the Double Down off of the strip.
I was intending to get not just drunk, but blotto, shit-faced, obliterated. As I walked in, Ever Fallen in Love? was blasting on the jukebox, and I couldn't help but note the irony of the situation I found myself in, 1000 miles away from home in the disgusting hot desert, in a town that smelled of piss and desperation.

I started drinking. Hard. Meanwhile, someone in the bar had chosen the entirety of Singles Going Steady, and one Buzzcocks number after another played.
I remember laughing at the fact that instead of "Mens" or "Ladies" on the restroom doors, they had life size portraits of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy
painted there, and the toilet paper was secured to the wall with a chain. The bar's special was a concoction called "Ass Juice." I felt at home in the squalor.

We filled an entire round cocktail table with shot glasses and cocktail glasses, dead soldiers containing the dregs of my future regret, and I puked the second I got back out into the heat. That was the high point of the entire trip, and as I rode in a cheap stifling limousine with a pounding headache and guts full of acid the next morning, all I could hear in my head was "Ev-er fallen in love with someone- ever fallen in love- in love with someone- ever fallen in love- In love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

We had our date with Elvis, and somewhere around here I still have a DVD of the wretched awkward tacky ceremony, even though I left the ex wife behind seven years ago. Even though the ceremony was trash, and the four years of marriage were trash, the drunk the night before was golden, and it was thanks to the Buzzcocks.

View attachment 46729
Great story; thanks for sharing it. I wish I'd been there.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
His wife Mary Shelley is gutted yet happy now they are together on the other side.
If that was punk I am the pope.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
I can't help but think of my first marriage when I think of the Buzzcocks. I didn't want to marry this woman, but through family pressure on both sides,
and a shoulder shrug on my end, I found myself in Las Vegas, with a date with an Elvis impersonator the next day. Yeah, it was tacky, it was a little trashy,
but enough about my ex wife.

It was hotter than balls, and I was resigned and weary, tired of the strip and all of the flashing lurid disgusting excess
that it represented, and so we ended up just walking as the sun set, and finding a dive bar called the Double Down off of the strip.
I was intending to get not just drunk, but blotto, shit-faced, obliterated. As I walked in, Ever Fallen in Love? was blasting on the jukebox, and I couldn't help but note the irony of the situation I found myself in, 1000 miles away from home in the disgusting hot desert, in a town that smelled of piss and desperation.

I started drinking. Hard. Meanwhile, someone in the bar had chosen the entirety of Singles Going Steady, and one Buzzcocks number after another played.
I remember laughing at the fact that instead of "Mens" or "Ladies" on the restroom doors, they had life size portraits of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy
painted there, and the toilet paper was secured to the wall with a chain. The bar's special was a concoction called "Ass Juice." I felt at home in the squalor.

We filled an entire round cocktail table with shot glasses and cocktail glasses, dead soldiers containing the dregs of my future regret, and I puked the second I got back out into the heat. That was the high point of the entire trip, and as I rode in a cheap stifling limousine with a pounding headache and guts full of acid the next morning, all I could hear in my head was "Ev-er fallen in love with someone- ever fallen in love- in love with someone- ever fallen in love- In love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

We had our date with Elvis, and somewhere around here I still have a DVD of the wretched awkward tacky ceremony, even though I left the ex wife behind seven years ago. Even though the ceremony was trash, and the four years of marriage were trash, the drunk the night before was golden, and it was thanks to the Buzzcocks.

View attachment 46729
The amount of horseshit that comes out of your mouth is nauseating! Get a f***ing life you waffling can of piss.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
Overdose written all over it. Them american hating estonians sell cheap russian smack and shit mixed with things they stole from Chernobyl.

Padded doors in red leather looks so russian and tacky and lets face it Estonia is russian always have been always will be.

Estonians speak finnish but like a peasant would. Fed up with shithole countries living off the rich ones like fooking leeches.
 

joe frady

Vile Refusenik
Linder posted a couple of smashing snaps to-night of our 20th Century's Shelley ~




That's what hipsters looked like in the 70s kids...


.
 

NealCassidy

FREE SPEECH #FBPB

Trending Threads

Top Bottom