They arose from the ashes of the hair-centric warbling of the nineteen eighties and early nineties, a revolutionary rock band with post-punk sensibilities and a lust for groupies life. They ascended to super-stardom quickly, shone brightly for a short while, before fading quickly into obscurity; leaving those who had seen them perform thinking “thank god that’s over”. The Dumb Terminals, a melancholy milestone on the road of rock and roll. This is their story.
To trace their history we have to step back many years to a young man living in the north of England. Brought up on the music of the Beatles and Stones, it was not surprising that he should have musical aspirations. Sadly, these aspirations were not supported by anything in the way of musical talent; but that had never stopped Herman’s Hermits and it wasn’t going to stop him.
Early experimentation with an acoustic guitar confirmed that it was all very well for U2 to sing “all I need is red guitar, three chords and the truth”; but actually mastering three chords and stringing them together into something that could be called music (or the truth) was another matter. Maybe he needed a red guitar; so he set out to build one.
He sourced an electronics magazine which described in detail the circuitry required for three pick-ups and several effects switches. Once he had the bits, construction took an hour or so.
The magazine also provided plans for building a solid wood guitar, with accompanying instructions which merely stated: “Build this”. Once he had the bits, construction took three months or so.
Solid mahogany and a junior hacksaw were not natural companions, and a set of chisels from Woolworths didn’t help much. And nobody mentioned that the neck and frets needed to have a degree of alignment. The end result was a scrappy mess; but it was a red scrappy mess and if he connected it to the pickup of his record deck, it made an evil noise. But the noise could never be described as music and the three chords proved even more elusive than usual given the rather ad-hoc positioning of the frets and the wavy design of the neck. Still, if he stood in front of a mirror with his red electric guitar and half closed his eyes, there was definitely a rock star waiting to emerge.
Eventually, and inevitably, the electronics melted, the screws holding the neck to the body pulled out, and the guitar was consigned to the dustbin of history, as were his dreams of glory.
And that would be the end of the story, if it wasn’t for a chance encounter with a music store window in Kuala Lumpur years later. In the window there was a second-hand Fender bass guitar and our hero had three thoughts:
- Two less strings
- No chords
- Rock star!
Didn’t take long to discover that four strings still required a degree of dexterity, and that playing notes at random did not a solid backing track make. He needed help.
He found it in the shape of an Italian named Massimo. Massimo had a history of drug-fuelled trips across Europe in a van as a member of a jazz-rock band. Now he had a more staid existence as a double-bass playing member of the Kuala Lumpur Symphony orchestra. But most importantly, when he wasn’t being orchestral, he taught private students, and our hero was taken under the wing of the Italian maestro.
Every Saturday afternoon they would convene for an hour of instruction and abuse. The class would always start with a cup of expresso, and would be quickly followed by a torrent of complaint that the student had not practised enough. “You miss the notes, I break your fingers” yelled Massimo who clearly missed no longer living in a van and taking drugs, almost as much as he regretted missing out on a career in the mafia.
Progress was slow, due entirely to the ineptitude of the student, and the whole enterprise would no doubt have fizzled out if it were not for a chance meeting that was to change the face of the music industry for ever (very slight exaggeration).
Malaysia is a multi-ethnic country, with the population split between Malays, Chinese and Indians. Unknown to our struggling bass player, he was working in close proximity with representatives from each of these three ethnic groups, who were practising Malaysian unity by trying to assemble a band. Carefully avoiding the tagline of the Blues Brothers, “we’re on a mission from god”, because they realised there would be some dispute as to which particular god they were on a mission from, the three worked on honing their sound. But there was a problem. They had vocals, lead guitar and keyboards covered; but nobody to lay down that all-important groove in the background.
Our northern soul couldn’t lay down a groove if you gave it to him on a plate and said “lay this down”, but he did have the necessary guitar. Even more importantly, he had an amplifier that everything could be plugged into, a rudimentary drum machine and he lived in a house far enough away from civilisation such that practice could take place without the police being called on the suspicion of animal torture. Inevitably, he was invited to join the band.
It would be appropriate at this point to introduce the musicians. There was Jerome, classically trained on keyboards, who could knock you out a Mozart piano sonata without missing a note. Yuk Wai was on lead guitar and was entirely self-taught. He demonstrated his commitment to his craft by taking a day off work to queue for tickets for a Clapton concert; and then arrived at work the day after the concert bruised and bloodied after fighting for possession for a plectrum that Eric tossed into the crowd. Yuk Wai won. Finally there was Rosenah on vocals, who fulfilled the dual requirements of a female vocalist by looking cute and sounding like an angel.
Apart from the musicians, there was the guy who owned a bass, an amplifier, a drum machine and some space to practice in. As you may have guessed, his name was Spike.
With the band assembled, it was important to have a name, something that could be painted on the drum kit that they didn’t have. After much debate The Dumb Terminals was chosen. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Practice sessions proceeded slowly, hindered by the fact that nobody knew any tunes and even if they did it was unlikely that the bass player could cope with them. Left to their own devices, the band members would have lost interest in a few weeks and disbanded. But then came the phone call; they had a gig!
There could have been a problem getting the band members and all their gear to Madison Square Gardens; but there wasn’t because the gig was at a local Kuala Lumpur hotel. There could have been a problem selling enough tickets for people to come and see a band that was only hovering on the cusp of greatness; but there wasn’t because the event was the company new year party and the role of the Dumb Terminals was to fill in a few minutes between raffle prizes. A humble start, but surely there would be some record industry executives who just happened to be staying in the same hotel, and just happened to hear the band play, and would have their cheque books out before you could say “unlikely scenario”.
Anyway, a gig was a gig and they needed a song. “Still Got The Blues” was chosen because it had an epic riff for the lead guitar which Yuk Wai could play, and a simple bass line which even Spike could possibly manage. Even so, there was some doubt as to the chord sequence; time to call in Massimo.
To call Massimo musically gifted would be like calling Steve Jobs a good ideas man (or more precisely, a dead good ideas man). Massimo was amazing. An ambulance would drive by and he would call out the two notes of the siren. A clock would chime; “A-flat” he would advise. So Spike took a tape of Still Got The Blues to a Saturday coffee and torture session and played it once through for Massimo. “Play it again” requested the wannabe godfather. Spike played it again. Massimo handed him a piece of paper with every chord of the song written down. And these were not simple chords like G or C or the other one that Spike had learned so many years ago but since forgotten. No, these were chords like B suspended seventh diminished ninth with an added flourish. But when someone who could play actually played them, they were spot on.
The remaining Saturday afternoons before the gig were spent learning the bass part for the song and repeating it over and over again until the error rate dropped below 50%; not an easy target.
Come the night of the gig and expectations were high. There was some initial disappointment when the hotel failed to provide the requested champagne and canapes in the dressing room; the disappointment mainly arising from the fact there was no dressing room and the band had to prepare behind a curtain at the back of the stage. Spike decided he should cover some of his ineptitude by dressing for the occasion; although wig, sunglasses and a kaftan was an unusual choice.
Not to be outdone, Jerome decided he could enhance his sartorial elegance by donning a striking pair of underpants outside his trousers. He studied the effect and then reached for a large pair of socks and stuffed them down the front.
“Why are you doing that Jerome?” “More groupies.”
Didn’t work.
The tension was electric as the band hit the stage and launched into their showcase number. Sadly, Spike’s effect pedal was not electric because he had wired it up wrong and the performance lurched to a standstill while the bass player rummaged around on the floor trying to sort out the wiring, partially blinded by sunglasses and a wig over his face. Eventually, the drum machine clicked into life again and The Dumb Terminals gave what I can honestly say was their greatest, and only performance.
There is confusion in the industry as to what happened next. Some say there were internal frictions in the band due to the size of socks down the underpants incident. Others say there were creative differences between band members with disputes about whose turn it was to switch on the drum machine. There were nasty rumours about Eric Clapton’s plectrum being used for sexual purposes. Nobody knows the real story; or if they do they are not saying. All we do know is that The Dumb Terminals never played together again, thus spoiling the opportunity for an entire generation to ask “who’s that dick in the kaftan that can’t play?”
Extract from Wikipedia: The Dumb Terminals Lead guitar - Yuk Wai Keyboards - Jerome Vocals - Rosenah Bass - Spike Drums - Roland
Influences Spiggy Topes and the Turds Spinal Tap
Discography Plug ’n Play - The Dumb Terminals Greatest Hits Track listing: Pending hits
Comments 🔗
2013-03-25| Wolfgang Lonien saysHahaha - time- and priceless!
2013-03-25| Jan sayswith Pans People and Jimy Saville to do the intro you’d have made it BIG VERY funny - love the wig.
2013-03-25| Spike saysI think I looked good in the wig. Unfortunately I left in a drawer for a few weeks and something started to eat it.
2013-03-25| genuinej saysAn m too few and an l too many. It’s Jimmy Savile, with special emphasis on vile.