Stories and Tall Tales

Foss by Davey Wares

Foss.

A punk visionary? A smooth-talking shyster? An (allegedly) prolific user of a variety of non-prescription chemical mood-enhancers? Or just a bad guitarist dole-wallah in inch thick jam-jars and £3 deck shoes?

Who knows.
Only one thing is for sure, Foss looked like Elvis Costello, if he’d been drawn by Picasso. On acid.
And, weirdly, he scored with loads of girls.

Not a ‘Bunker person’ as such, Foss was a local hedonist with aspirations to musical superstardom via the coolest, and quite possibly the worst band that ever played a gig in Sunderland.

Despite the screams of his legion of female admirers, mostly Catholic schoolgirls from St. Anthony’s who really should have known better, Foss’ band, Christmas Island, came to personify the punk ethic in that they were musically untutored enthusiasts who liked to party a lot more than they liked to rehearse.

And trust me, they really needed to rehearse.

Together with lead vocalist Jimmy Kelly, and the Rockin’ Desmond rhythm section of John Emmerson on bass and Bam on drums, a typical gig would involve the rest of the band trying to keep up (or down) with Foss’ idiosyncratic rhythm guitar playing while completing just enough songs so that Jimmy could then leave the stage as a bone fide rock singer, go to the bar and (allegedly) chat up someone else’s girlfriend.
While looking very cool.

Eventually joined by Paul ‘Teaser’ Teesdale, a proper guitar player who could play chords and everything, Christmas Island were in danger of becoming a decent little band but, fortunately for the musical cognoscenti, the band fell apart before the true genius of their appalling badness could be spoiled.

But the lifestyle guru that was Foss left our great city and headed South sometime in the late 80’s. One legend has it that he became a drugs and alcohol counsellor.
Another legend says he’s in jail.
Or he’s reforming the band.


And btw, it’s pronounced FOZZ.