Tag: Steve Burgess

On Steve – 25th August 1994

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The pub is vibrant, people are smiling and dancing. It’s New Year’s Eve 1992. I don’t recall the circumstances that took us there, where the place is or what happened there. Our circle of friends were gathering to welcome in the new year in style. Myself, Fatty and Paul Simmons, we were the outsiders travelling up from Dorset to join the Hampshire crew of Rich, Rob, Steve, Chrissie, John, Selina, Dave and Holty. Our connection was music, whether performing, promoting, or watching.

Tonight, however was a celebration of friendship. While everyone was rolling around drunkenly, at about 11 o’clock Steve and I agreed it was time to leave. We wanted to get away from the gaggle, have a quiet space in which to exchange ideas. We just said to each other let’s go back to the house and talk. We both knew what we meant. It was a poetic moment, we both wanted to thrash out ideas and ideals and open each other up in a way that I’ve never found with anyone else, lay ourselves bare, vulnerable, emotions visible.

So we walked back through the empty dark streets, each house and home having their own little private celebrations for the new year. We got to Holty’s house where everyone would be coming back to after the pub shut, we walked in to the living room, I sat on the sofa lounging back slightly drunk. Steve sat crossed legged on the floor, a fine upright muscular figure, I can see his silhouette now. He took out some hash and rolled up a fine joint of skunk weed as we set off on our journey into each others souls.

While not invasive or offensive, we voyeur each others thoughts. We find truth and beauty in what each of us has to say and our relationship develops into something special. He tells me how he used to look up to me when he saw me years ago at gigs and I say I can’t believe it, not understanding that I might affect people in that way. I don’t even remember him from then and even when we toured Europe together with our respective bands I didn’t get much chance to make friends, though I was probably too wrapped up in myself to have noticed anyone else.

I don’t recall the reasons that he looked up to me and they are not so important now anyway. But right then, right when he told me, the roles reversed and I started to look up to him. I loved his bright enthusiasm, the relentless energy, on later occasions at his house we’d talk everyone, to sleep, then sit up til 4am when I would protest that I needed rest but he said no, we must carry on talking. Sleep is the enemy, a favourite saying from Kerouac.

At midnight, we welcomed in the new year, I’d rifled Holty’s varied collection of CDs and played Madonna, Half Man Half Biscuit and Mud, me trying to convince Steve they were ahead of their time and probably one of the very first punk bands, it all seemed to make perfect sense at the time – hey, I was a little drunk and stoned!

A while later the rest of the circus came back from the pub in very high spirits, a party erupted around us and we gladly joined in. Paul was the first to puke (I’m not sure if anyone else did, and Rob eventually fell asleep under the chair of the three peice suite before everyone dumped him in the cupboard under the stairs (or did he go there of his own accord, I forget now?)), his socks left to turn to ice in the freezer (or were they Rich’s?).

One clear memory is Steve reprimanding me for being out of order when I must of said something insulting about someone, I was a very sarcastic son of a bitch back then and thanks to him I changed my ways slowly over the next year or so. I began to respect him even more.

His few letters to me reflected our conversations and I once wrote a six page letter of thoughts and ideas at his request, it was regarding an article he sent me from a newspaper. He was amazed at the huge amount of points I’d raised that he said he would never have thought of, from then we would make demands of each other, more and more, we had to know each other’s ideas and then bounce them around. We were grasping at life, getting a hold on it, looking for meaning, looking for happiness. Steve found it too a lot of the time and slowly I did as well, trying to emulate his outlook and zest for adventure. He loved and married Chrissie, took on the role of father to Chrissy’s daughter Amanda, and then to their daughter Rebecca. He was a real role model for me, changing over the years from a wild youth always in trouble to the most gentle, caring man who loved life to the full. And you know, that sounds just like me.

Steve is giving us a quick conducted tour of the bedroom. He’s keen to show off his pride and joy, daughter Rebecca, sleeping softly wrapped in blankets in the cot. Her 3 month old tiny lungs take short shallow restful breaths.

While Steve is pointing the camera at tiny Rebecca’s face, his hand comes into view and he points his 24 year old finger at her and then sticks his 24 year old thumb up. Proud father, lucky child.

The tour is a glimpse into a private life, not really a show for friends but the capture of a moment trapped in sound and vision for that old age memory loss time, a reminder of beautiful things that affect life profoundly.

Continuing on our tour, lots of short dialogues (excerpt ends)

STE Bulletin 23 – 2nd February 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

Coarse and guttural one-syllable Anglo-Saxon with Mr Cynical

Hello again, bet you’re glad to hear from me again. 

Time moves on, things change, people change. Not me, no way. I see all those so-called punk rockers wearing nice new clothes and brand new shoes and, get this, with their shirts tucked in! 

I had the misfortune to actually converse with one of these working-class pretenders (baseball cap on backwards!). You know what he had planned? He was going to punk out at a local show, with so-called punk bands playing. No doubt going on to a bar later and dance to rave or somesuch! What are these people coming to? Let me tell you – it’s not punk rock is it? 

You’ll never catch me in one of those places, even if Beki Bondage was naked in there. Punk rock is about rebellion and rejecting all those normal things. What do they think they’re going to change with their positive attitudes and smiling faces? Sod all – that’s what! 

All those straights can’t be changed – they’re assholes and always will be – this isn’t opinion, it’s truth and I should know….

Shaun’s Shorts

Mr Cynical, miserable old git, eh?

There’s been a lot of talk in the bulletins recently, about friends, especially since one of our greatest friends, Steve Burgess, passed away. I too have been thinking about friends.

Friends, by nature, are friendly. They reassure you and respect you. They can also point out your faults without holding a grudge, or without putting you down so that you still feel good about yourself. They don’t hold you responsible for their own problems and they are willing to accept change.

Steve Burgess was sometimes disheartened by the punk scene, due to its lack of acceptance of change or new ideas, i.e. closed-mindedness.

What do us old-time punks do? The ones who were there years ago?

Do we disassociate ourselves from what is happening now and reminisce about the glory days, or do we put in our efforts and make those glory days again (and again)?

I think those wishing for the old days are closed-minded and unable to accept change. I also think that is their right but what I’m afraid of is the poison that can be spread. It is easy to criticise our scene – it is easy to criticise anything. It is also hard to ignore unconstructive criticism. Doubts start to nag, “Is it worth it? Why do we bother?”

Let’s reject those ideas – they are not for our scene.

One of Steve’s favourite sayings was “It’s all punk rock, innit?” meaning that whatever we did, whatever we do – it’s still punk rock. We are not trapped by the term but released from it.

Can you accept change? Can you be my friend?

Tony Suspect – STE Bulletin – 5th January 1994

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SUSPECT THOUGHTS WITH TONY

How do you react to the loss of a friend? On the evening of December 28th, I got a phone call, it was Rob. Of course, as I recognised his voice, I gave him a cheery “Hello” + expected to be told when our next practice was. As if reading my thoughts, his next words were “We won’t be practising for a few weeks”, there was a pause before the hammer blow “Steve’s dead”. I was stunned, I just couldn’t believe it. Rob was understandably, in a bit of a state + after giving me all the details he had, he rang off. I just sat there in a daze, there were no tears, no overwhelming sense of grief, nothing, except that I couldn’t get Steve out of my thoughts. For the next few days, I would suddenly find that I had been sitting just staring into space thinking of Chrissy, Amanda + Rebecca, the band + then back to Steve again. It was like I was numb. I still couldn’t accept that I wouldn’t be seeing him again.

I had known Steve for years but not all that well. I’d see him at gigs, we might say “Hi” to each other but that was it. Then we started THIRST together (with Shaun + Shane) + as the band progressed + we got to know each other better, I’m pleased to say we became quite good friends. He would often say that, above all else, the band were all good friends + that’s what kept us together when we’d have bad practices + couldn’t find a compromise. We stuck at it + things got: better + because we all got on so well, being in THIRST became cool.

Our first: demo may not be perfect but the time we spent recording + mixing it was fun, we were having a good time + achieving something with our band, it’s a happy memory I will keep forever. Like me, he was a football nut + we were talking about playing for the same team, something 1 was really looking forward to.

Steve was really into THIRST, so Jon, Rob + I have decided to keep the band going, keeping the name + recruiting someone who knew Steve + who Steve liked. Rob will move over to guitar + we have Phil of CHICKEN-BONE CHOKED, coming in to play bass. I’m not sure how permanent this will be as obviously Phil has his priorities with CBC but we hope to record a single as a tribute to Steve, featuring a couple of tracks he played on, plus some new stuff.

So, how did I react? Just shock I suppose, I still find it hard to come to terms with, it’s just so sad to lose someone you liked + respected. Writing this, along with reading the obituaries, was the hardest thing I’ve had to do since he died, it’s kind of brought it all home to me but (as l write) the funeral is still to come + that will be worse.

Now our thoughts must be with Chrissy + the kids + in that we will always remember Steve. He was one of the nicest. people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I may not have known him well for as long as a lot of others but I value the time we spent as friends. Steve, I will never forget you.

Rob Callen – STE Bulletin – 4th January 1994

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A MEMORY FOR THE MASSES WITH ROB.

Whenever I think about poetry, or friendship, I will think of things and many people I’ve met + Steve Burgess will always be amongst the first.

I want to write about friendship, about what I want friendship to be like with everyone who knows me now + everyone who may get to know me in the future. This is not just some throwaway waffle, which just says I’m revelling in my own insecure little daydream, ‘cos this column is based on a friendship given by Steve Burgess.

All the words here mean something to me + maybe you’ll agree with them but that doesn’t really matter; for what really matters (+ what I’ve found out to be so important, that it makes my eyes well with tears every time I think about it) is friendship. Friendship between people that actually means something real. You know, something which is alive, that makes us all feel that we can contribute something of value in our lives for free, to someone else, to help them realise that they’re great + that we’re inspired by them.

So, how the hell does this all get to be? I can only tell you of what I know + how I got to know Steve + just hope you might get something from it, ‘cos I’m writing this from the experience from my life and especially the experiences I’ve had over the last 16 months when I first got to know Steve really well (although I had known him for years just to say hello to through music).

First, let’s say something about friendship. Friendship, I feel starts with sharing a thought + talking things through + getting to know where other people are coming from + laughing, because of stupid things that we’ve been through together + being accepted – not because of what you wear, or of what you look like but because of who you are underneath your skin + what your dreams strive for. With these in place, in the end, you’ll respect someone for exactly the right reasons I would want somebody to respect me. I respected Steve for these reasons.

There’s just so many people in this scene (+ outside of the ‘scene’ for that matter), whom I only half know, maybe just to say “Hi” to at a distance + I just wish I could know them better. Like I got to know Steve. For I thought I would never start writing about my own personal circumstances, or about individual people because I want to write about subjects that people can think about. + about things that inspire me. Then Steve, who was one of the most sincere + inspirational people I knew, who always went out of his way to help you out, who I used to play in a band with, who never used to hesitate to talk about what he really felt inside + who we all loved, died of a heart attack at the tragic age of 24.

What I’ve written about is friendship + about getting to know people + about giving each other strength, which Steve gave to me in more ways than he will ever know + I hope + trust I in turn, gave back to him. There’s so much more which I want to say, about what friendship could be + what Steve gave but I’m running out of space, so I’ll just finish by saying I want to dedicate this whole collection of words, paragraphs + thoughts, to the memory of Stephen Burgess, my good good friend.

After thought: – Bronwyn said about when she, Shaun, Rich + I went around to Steve + Chrissy’s place, everyone seemed so open + you just talked about how you felt to each other. I can’t think of how I could have said that myself but I’m sure Steve would have been proud of such a description of his friendship

Rich Levine – STE Bulletin 22 – 3rd January 1994

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MY HEART + THE REAL WORLD WITH RICH…

On Tuesday, December 28th 1993, Steve Burgess tragically died of a heart attack.

He was just 24 years old, married to Chrissy, with 2 daughters Amanda + Rebecca, aged 7 years + 3 months respectively.

Some of you may have known Steve from the bands THIRST, (+ earlier) ALL THE GLORY + CORPORATE GRAVE + as part of the Southampton punk/ hardcore scene over the last 8 or 9 years. To me, he was my best friend.

When I heard the news (whilst at the tranquillity of my Mum’s, in rural west Wales), I was numb. It didn’t sink in. It seemed so unreal like it was a big wind-up + suddenly Steve was going to turn up + say “Not Really!”.

Then came the tears + the pain. Tears of sadness, tears of anger at how cruel + unfair this world is, that someone with so much love, so much to live for, with so much purpose to his life, could be taken from us. My thoughts were with Chrissy + his family.

At times, I felt cheated – so many things I’d never be able to share with Steve. We all think we’re so invulnerable, take our lives for granted, that we’re going to be around for the next 40 years or so.

We never consider how fragile our existence is.

What can’t be taken away from me are my memories. I went to the

same school (Alderman Quilley in Eastleigh) as Steve + we became friends through punk rock. Going with him to his first gig (CONFLICT in Bournemouth), when he was just 15, forming our own punk rock band in his bedroom (the prototype CORPORATE GRAVE), seeing him on stage later on tape + record. Having the privilege of being the Best Man at his + Chrissy’s wedding + both of us being absolutely terrified of making our speeches! Witnessing what a proud father he was. So many scrapes + so many laughs…

Steve was a very thoughtful person. He had very firm beliefs but also liked to test these, by questioning even those which are considered sacred cows within our scene. A few weeks before he died, we had a long discussion about bands + ethics, until 3am.

We were both exhausted but as he dropped me home, we both agreed how much we’d enjoyed the debate. Steve loved life + had a wicked sense of humour (as witnessed in his occasional ‘Danny Zuko’ column for this bulletin).

Like all of us, Steve wasn’t perfect, he was a human being but it was impossible to dislike Steve – the number of people who attended his funeral is a testament to just how popular + well-liked he was. He loved + cared about his family + friends + was there when I was down + needed him.

For a time, I was thinking what’s the point in carrying on with the S.T.E. + this whole music thing. It all seemed so trivial. If that’s all it was (just music), then yes, that would be the case.

However, the friendships, feelings + sense of community spirit, that’s there in our scene, far, far outweighs mere notes + guitar sounds. At our regular Sunday night ‘Scrabble’ sessions, the day after a gig, Steve would often talk more about: the conversations he’d had with such + such rather than the bands who’d played.

If anything positive can come out of Steve’s death, it’s that you have to cherish + appreciate your friends. What we have in Southampton + the people who come to S.T.E. gigs are special – don’t take it for granted.

Right now, I’m listening to JAWBOX’s ‘Novelty’ album.  Their song ‘Dreamless’ (+ the other 2 songs played at his funeral, NICK DRAKE’s ‘Pink Moon’ + ‘Texarkana’ by R.E.M.) will always remind me of Steve. I’ll miss that laugh, I’ll miss making him tapes + him making me cups of tea + vegetable pate sandwiches + above all, I’ll miss him. Right now, I still feel the pain of his loss – time heals all wounds they say but the memory will always remain.

So long Steve, your friend Rich.

12th Jan 2024 – Rich was the first person that I really connected with in Southampton from attending and playing shows at the West Indian Club. Even though Steve and I had toured together in our bands I didn’t really connect with him until later. Rich, Paul, Rob, and Steve, along with Johnny, Chrissy and Selina became the group of folks that I was closest to and despite living quite removed from them I always had a feeling of kinship and warmth. For those closer to Steve in location, the impact of his passing must have felt even crueller.

40,000 Reasons For Living – STE Bulletin 22 – 2nd January 1994

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Welcome to the first S.T.E. Bulletin of 1994. We hope you had a pleasant Christmas + have a Happy New Year. There’s been something of a cloud over us in the last few weeks, following the death of our close friend + THIRST guitarist Steve Burgess, between Christmas + New Year.

Suffice it to say all the columns this time are devoted to Steve + this + all future bulletins, are respectfully dedicated with love to Steve’s memory.

There are several benefit gigs being arranged, as a memorial + on behalf of the Wessex Heart Foundation. Watch these bulletins for details.

As always, we actively encourage people to get involved with the S.T.E. (in any capacity), so please get in touch. If anyone wishes to receive these bulletins on a regular basis then ask to be put on our mailing list. The Christmas gig raised £53 for Southampton Anti-Fascist Action, so thanks to everybody who contributed to that.

Cheers also to ONE BY ONE, KITCHENER, CHICKEN BONE-CHOKED, OLDER THAN DIRT, Chris, Mint, the Joiners staff, Tony, Pete Osmond + everyone who has supported us, we really do appreciate it

love + greetings.
Rich/Rob/Paul…the S.T.E. Collective.

12th Jan 2024 – See the next few entries for other’s thoughts and recollections about Steve in this month’s STE Bulletin.

A terrible Christmas – 31st December 1993

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 4 Comments

As midnight approached, there was a drought of happiness. Instead, a flood of tears, uncontrollable sobbing.

I sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket to ward off the cold chill of winter. It was two days ago that we were sitting here quietly sipping our coffees, Bronwyn still tending to my last few days of chickenpox. Oh yes, it has certainly been a terrible Christmas.

The phone rang and Bronwyn got up to answer it and I was hoping for a friendly voice for me to set upon my story of terrible illness, oddly proud of my survival and hardship. I wish that had been the case.

By her voice, I knew something awful had happened. It sounded like….like someone had died. She called me through her choking and sobbing.

Thoughts raced. My mum? Not my mum!

Bronwyn said, ‘It’s Rob.’

‘Oh, thank god, ‘ I thought, ‘it’s not Steve.’ Or did she mean that it’s Rob on the phone? Oh, those few seconds are so clear, all those thoughts whizzing around as I took the receiver, Bronwyn too distressed to talk.

‘Steve passed away from a heart attack, the day before yesterday.’ WHAM! It was, as you’d expect, like a ton of bricks.

The veil of illness over me immediately lifted.

Coarse and gutteral one syllable Anglo-Saxon with Mr Cynical – 25th December 1992

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I picked up that excuse for toilet paper S.T.E. Bulletin, the other day + was so fuckin’ furious that I wrote to the bastards and they, being the nice boys that they are (P-fucking-C + you know what that stands for don’t you, Pig Conspiracy), wanted me to contribute a column. Guess I must’ve impressed with my charm.

First off, that fucking Danny Zuko, get a fuckin’ life you miserable fuckin’ fuckwit. The last place you want to go to meet or make friends is at a fuckin’ gig. They’re all nicey-nicey boys these days. Not like the good old days of ’82, when punks knew what punk meant + that was Anarchy, Chaos + Fags. Those fuckers these days spike their hair with hair gel – we used to just grab hold of some live wires, ‘cos it was cheaper + not supporting some fascist company like Boots.

I hope Danny, for your sake, you’re not one of these long hair types, ‘cos if you are + I see you at the next gig, I’m gonna cut all your fuckin’ hair off + set light to it, like that fuckin’ hippie Hendrix set light to his guitar. I fuckin’ cannot stand all this rehashed 60’s hippie shit. about peace + love. I bet you take drugs too? We just used to bang our heads on the pavement ’til we were senseless. It was cheaper + we knew we weren’t contributing to the destruction of the rainforests.

In fact, I don’t think you should bother going to any gigs at all, you’re such a sad bastard, that it would be a good idea if we all just forgot about you altogether, whoever you are:

The gigs I’ve been to lately have been so shit. Badly organised + badly run but I come to them more + more, ‘cos I like to laugh at those so-called ‘scenesters’, who think everything’s great + just wonderful in their own little world. Fuck that.

The only good thing that came out at one gig, was the shit I had in the toilets there before I went home. Who is that Selina thing? Jeez, another long-haired type I notice. Typical.

I bet both Rich + Rob (from their articles) have long hair too (or know someone with long hair). Judging by what they wrote, they sound like a bunch of hippy girls, who’ve never had a decent shag in their lives (unlike some of us).

That Rob was nearly right with some of the things he said but then said that things weren’t gloomy in the future! Oh yes, they fuckin’ are mate + I’m probably the most optimistic person you’re ever likely to meet. Things are so shit that I’m not going to even bother writing anything else but like my favourite actor said – I’LL BE BACK!

25th Jan 2024 – Reading this today cracks me up. Danny Zuko was Steve Burgess’ pseudonym and of course, I loved dearly everyone I mentioned here. Mr Cynical was an easily exploitable stereotype that I don’t think I could quite capture again these days.