Pop musician Jah Wobble and his mentor spill the beans about each other
My memories of school are really horrible. I went to a church primary school in Stepney, which was run by the Sisters of Mercy. But they had no mercy. I remember getting caned for things I hadn't done, such as going too near the church in playtime. People say: "Yeah, but there were also good times" but I look back and can't see any real joy.
Then I went to London Nautical, a school for boys who wanted to go to sea. I thought I might go on a boat or something. I got away with murder. I would bunk off a lot and cause a lot of disruption. I couldn't resist f***ing about. In a way I hated it because my inner voice said:" You should be doing more".
It's an incredible thing in our society that young men are allowed to slip through the net. My very best friend at school is a street person now. I saw him last year, I didn't recognise him. We were expelled together when we were 15, he talked a lot about those days at school. I sometimes see kids walking round here in east London, kicking tin cans at each other. I was a zillion times worse. If I saw a boy doing what I did would I say he had serious problems. Maybe if a teacher had said: "This boy is troubled rather than just trouble", things would have been different. I think I would have responded because years on I did respond to the advice of older people. But teenagers can cross a line and go into a hard shell that they can't get out of. I see it a lot with kids round here. Someone from that time may read this and say: "The b*****d! I tried to help him but he wouldn't have it."
I went to Kingsway College because I didn't want to work. I didn't want to do anything boring. I met Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious there - and the whole punk thing happened. I was 18 and playing bass with Public Image Limited, when I met Jaki Liebezeit, one of four strange Germans who formed the group Can.
Jaki is an incredibly talented drummer and wonderful man. I call him an anti-teacher teacher. Ask him a question and Jaki will claim to know nothing but people are much more than what they say. I think of Jaki as the King of Saxony.
Jaki brings out the best in me and my music - that's one of the main functions of a teacher. There was always a consistency, a caring and a warmth there. Just by looking at how Jaki totally focuses on what he does, how he never fakes it, taught me more than all my school lessons. He completely sacrifices himself to the altar of the drum and music. Jaki keeps growing and changing so I keep learning. Every time he comes over he's doing something different. It's amazing to talk about the growth of a man in his fifties.
When I first met Jaki I was destructive. I was an alcoholic. I even stole money from him. The last few years have been a coming home for me, coming back and claiming my place in society. Now I'm doing a degree in philosophy, literature and music at Birkbeck College.
Jaki Liebezeit was Can's drummer from 1968 until 1978. He now works with Clap off Chaos, a synthesiser group.
Actually I am not very fond of bass players, because most of them are just bass players. The first time I played with Wob, I noticed that he was an exception, he was an extraordinary musician. Wob is a person with much humour and a very strong sense of rhythm.
We went on doing recordings and concerts in Germany over the following years. Everything was all right, although Wob used to drink a whole bottle of whisky before the concerts. One night we played in Aachen.
After the gig we went straight back to Cologne to watch football on TV. Wob said:"If England loses, I'm going to kill myself". England lost. Instead of killing himself (I'm glad he did not) he started to beat our singer Sheldon Angel with a bottle.
The next day, after a concert, Wob collected the money for all of us and left for Amsterdam. I couldn't understand his behaviour. I was convinced he'd become a heroin addict. Later I'd heard he'd become an alcoholic and given up music. Then I heard he'd gone to work in the London Underground. I thought that was it.
Wob phoned me some years later to tell me he'd given up drinking, from that day on any negative experiences were forgotten.
I never felt I could teach Wob anything. In fact, I don't like to be teacher. Never in my life have I given lessons, I am convinced music cannot be taught. My time at school was probably the most unhappy part of my life. I changed school so many times I can hardly remember one teacher.
To me making music means learning and changing. The world changes every day, so does music. The progress is what I'm interested in. when I cannot learn any more it will be the end.
The Guardian Tuesday June 9 1998 -
Interviews by Emily Moore