The Dead Fly Diaries 1# - POST MORTEM

So, an occasional reminisce through the time vaults, back to the Dead Fly Rehearsal Rooms - the St Helens practice place of notoriety and legend, created and curated by myself and Bun - and a look at some of its clients.

Post Mortem were a Punk band from Rainhill, comprising of Dink on guitar, Paddy on bass, drummer Dave, and Mike on vocals - better known by his stage name Doctor Death.
Doctor Death wore a top hat and bore the black-and-white voodoo skull make-up of Baron Samedi from 'Live and Let Die'.

Their gigs were memorable affairs; Doctor Death was fond of dropping his keks and sticking the microphone up his arse - a routine that seldom endeared him to the other singer when they were the support band. I remember one show, when cries for an encore were refused on the grounds that, after soldiering on for some time with just the one, Dink no longer had any strings left on his guitar. Another time, Paddy played with a dead cat gaffer-taped to his leg. He'd found it by the side of the road on the way to the gig.

In 1985, a 'Live Aid' concert was organised at the St Helens Rugby Club, featuring local bands. My and Bun's band 'Academy of Unrest' played, along with many others (In From the Storm, Dixie Cartoon, The Saviours(?)..) and including Post Mortem, or so we thought.Then early on in the evening it was announced that they wouldn't be playing as Doctor Death had been in a serious car crash and rushed to hospital.
The show must go on and did, albeit under this black cloud. Some time later, the compere's speech about famine and Bob Geldof was cut short by a battered, concussed and probably medicated Doctor Death, who staggered down the aisle to the stage, head in bandages like Basil Fawlty in 'The Germans', and screamed "Rumours of my death are unfounded!"

They were no less unpredictable in the practice room. One time the good Doctor came to my office and said "Bri, when you have a minute, can you come to our room?", then bounded off again. A minute or so later, I went to see what they needed, and Doctor Death said "Oh, nothing. we've just all wiped our dicks over the door handle".
On another occasion, shortly after we'd put signs up in the rooms, kindly asking people to use the bins provided, I went in the room to find black scorch-marks up the wall where the poster had been.
The Post Mortem boys' explanation for this was "Spontaneous Combustion".

They ran me ragged with their antics, but behind their Marks Brothers chaos was a genuine affection for the poor sod running the practice rooms. The local music scene is less rich without such eccentric characters, with their songs about Myra Hyndley, and Doctor Death's idea of a love song - "I love my Mammy Baby, but she's got metal legs".
If anyone can correct me on the "facts" in this blog, please do so as it was some time ago, and the mind plays tricks...though not as many as Post Mortem did.