You’ve probably heard the name Spizz since he’s been around for years, decades even. Six, to be precise, dating back to the early post-punk scene of the late ’70s. In those days he and his ramshackle bunch of chums went under the brand of Spizzoil, making a name for themselves touring with Siouxsie and the Banshees.  This coincided with the new era of indie singles and a release entitled ‘Soldier Soldier’ partly inspired by Spizz, born Kenneth Spiers, being the son and nephew of forces veterans.

Young Kenneth got it into his head to change the name of his band on a regular basis, the next single, ‘Where’s Captain Kirk?’’ attributed to Spizzenergi. His fans can’t have been too confused since this record became the first one to top the newly created indie chart, earning Spizzenergi a contract with then major label A&M. Only by this time Ken had decided to call them Athletico Spizz 80, their debut album entitled Do a Runner.

It was in 1980 that I first got to sit down with the band to conduct an interview for Record Mirror, the weekly music paper where I was one of the editors. The record company PR, the lovely Kelly Pike, chose the venue, the café near the Serpentine Gallery in London’s Hyde Park. It was an equally beautiful spring day, which is more than can be said about the behaviour of the act.

No sooner had we been seated than a food fight began, a not entirely unexpected side-effect of the punk period. The main problem was that being a flash boy I was wearing some spivvy waistcoat recently acquired on an all-expenses-paid American trip. Henceforth I became one of the first journos to dress down, which explains me usually being photographed in denim or leather.

Being lads about town it was predictable that Spizz and I would meet again, not far from the park but in very different circumstances. In the early ’80s the New Romantic scene moved from Covent Garden to a West End venue modestly re-named Club for Heroes. One night word got round that record industry legend Clive Davis would be gracing us with his presence, courtesy of his Arista employee Simon Potts, one of the few A&R men who had the gall to hang out with inebriated musos and journos.

Clive himself had been an outstanding A&R boss at CBS Records in the States, in charge of signing that record company’s first generation of rock acts such as Bruce Springsteen, Santana and Aerosmith, the latter graciously namechecking him in one of their songs. Then in the late ’70s he founded Arista, wasting no time in snapping up Lou Reed, Iggy Pop and Patti Smith. He would have been about fifty on this night  out, twice the age of the rest of our crew who included John McGeoch of Magazine and Glenn Gregory and Martyn Ware from Heaven 17.

Suffice to say Mr Davis was a veritable role model: polite, urbane and generally drinking in the atmosphere while saying very little. In contrast the rest of us were drinking too much and talking a prodigious amount of rubbish.

The next time I saw Spizz was at a David Bowie themed night at The Fridge in Brixton. Topping the bill was David’s ex-wife Angie indulging in some badly thought-out Burlesque cabaret. Most of the audience had come to see opening act Sandy Dillon with Bowie’s former legendary guitarist Mick Ronson. This was lucky for me since by this time I was working for the duo’s UK management, Mainman, hustling for press coverage and ultimately a recording contract. Forever Bowie fan Spizz soon found his way to the green room, introductions made, anecdotes swapped and a merry time enjoyed by all.

With the exception of Britpop and some of the few and far between dance, rap and metal bands the ’90s and subsequent noughties weren’t exactly the golden years of rock and pop. I found myself talking to anyone who would listen about all the stars I had interviewed from before and after punk only to receive the same answer – write a book about it. So I did, self-publishing My Life With Rock N’ Roll People on my own indie label, Ghostwriter.

By this time the ever-resourceful Spizz had taken himself on the road for a karaoke tour of European army bases, raised a daughter house-husband style, and, ever the polymath, become a radio DJ.  Ideal since my book had just come out and he invited me on to his show to tell Soho Radio fans all about it, especially the chapters where he copped a name-check. I joined him in the studio not once, but twice, the day before a couple of the book launches I’d arranged in London. This fine display of indie promotional marketing seems to have worked, a reasonable proportion of those attending tottering home under the weight of their newly acquired 425-page hardback tomes.

Over the past year or so both Heaven 17’s Martyn Ware and Mick Ronson’s widow, Suzi, have released memoirs, Spizz turning up at their accompanying events. He even sprinkled a touch of mayhem over a boozy Brian Eno conceptual art exhibition where the former Roxy Music co-founder failed to turn up …but it has not all been about parties.  Earlier this year the word ‘Spizzology’ entered the rock ‘n’ roll lexicon.

Whereas Spizz Energi gigs, everywhere from old dance halls to outdoor festivals, have seen him front random-looking groups of individuals stepping on and offstage for different songs, Spizzology is a more pared down club-friendly affair. In fact it’s just him and guitarist Luca Comencini performing acoustic versions of the singer’s back catalogue. At the famous Dublin Castle in London’s Camden Town this proved to be quite a revelation. Luca’s minimal every-note-counts finger-work is an inspired vehicle for Spizz’s expressive voice, the space offering a welcome, uncluttered change from the bigger band.

Yes, we were pledged old favourites like ‘Red & Black’, ‘Soldier Soldier’ and ‘Where’s Captain Kirk’ but also a range of cover versions of the classics we all grew up with: Scott Walker’s formidable ‘Amsterdam’, Cockney Rebel’s ‘Come Up and See Me (Make Me Smile)’ and a rousing finale of Mott The Hoople’s ‘All The Young Dudes’. And guess what?  All of us forever dudes went home smiling.

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