TERRY HALL: A Soulful Rebel (Biographies of Musicians)

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His political awakening came in his teenage years “when I discovered that working men’s clubs had a colour bar on their doors. You could only get in if you were white. That really shook me. I couldn’t work it out.” With every record I’ve done, I’ve made reference to it,” says Hall, “but this is out-and-out. I was diagnosed with manic depression and schizophrenia about 11 years ago and that diagnosis made a big difference, because then I started taking medication. And the change in me, to be able to function… I couldn’t have done this 12 years ago. People used to say to me, ‘Why don’t you try yoga? Or St John’s wort?’ But there’s a massive difference when you’re in a deep depression and feeling shitty with the world, and the stage that I got to, where you want to give yourself a lobotomy, it’s that bad.” Perhaps the final word should be about Hall’s music. October saw the release of one of the last – if not the last – recorded song that he had a hand in. It was called Emily Smiles and it appeared on The Lightning Seeds’ latest album See You in the Stars. Hall co-wrote it with his old pal and Lightning Seeds frontman Ian Broudie. The lyrics couldn’t be more apt. They speak to the hope, the openness and the communication that Hall deemed so important. They suggest that life, although bruised, is beautiful. Hall would form another band, the Colourfield, in 1984, which had a hit with Thinking of You. He became a frequent collaborator over subsequent decades, working with the likes of the Lightning Seeds’ Ian Broudie, US actress Blair Booth, Toots and the Maytals, Lily Allen, Blur’s Damon Albarn – and later with his band Gorillaz – and Eurythmics’ Dave Stewart with whom he formed a duo known as Vegas in 1992. That afternoon two sets of skinheads came in. They told us they were ever so pleased we’d come to Belfast. They appreciated it so much that one set would stay downstairs and the other up on the balcony, so there was no fighting

Saffiyah Khan, in a Specials T-shirt, staring down English Defence League protester Ian Crossland in Birmingham, April 2017. Photograph: Joe Giddens/PA Terry: I get really bugged by this City of Culture thing. If you have to really search for the culture, you’re making it up. The landmark for me in Coventry is the cathedral. He will be deeply missed by all who knew and loved him and leaves behind the gift of his remarkable music and profound humanity. Terry often left the stage at the end of The Specials' life-affirming shows with three words... 'Love Love Love'. Terence Edward Hall was born on 19 March 1959 in Coventry, England, where he was also raised. He had a German-Jewish grandfather, and said of his heritage, "I grew up in an environment where you didn't really know where you were from. Coventry was built on immigrants because it was an industrial city looking for cheap labour. I don't think it's an accident that a group like the Specials came out of that". [2]He dropped out of education at the age of 14 and felt pushed towards non-conformism. “I can laugh about it now but it sort of switched something in my head, and it’s like I don’t have to do that, and that’s when I started not listening to anyone.” They embarked on a 30th anniversary tour in 2009 and performed at the 2012 London Olympics closing concert, but faced the death of drummer John Bradbury, and the departure of vocalist Neville Staple and guitarist Roddy Radiation over the next few years. But the singer, who pioneered the British ska scene, became seriously ill just weeks before they were due to fly to the US. a b Roach, Martin; Nolan, David (2015). Damon Albarn. Bonnier Zaffre. p.193. ISBN 978-1-78418-761-3.

Just reaching out, are you OK?” the song goes. It continues with what sounds like a mental health manifesto that Hall would wholeheartedly endorse. “Time is tight, life’s a fight/ Now’s the time, get it right/ People laughing, people crying/ Can’t you see we’re really trying?/ So goodbye to sorrow… Say hello to tomorrow.” Horace: I’m the only participating member of the Specials who still lives in Coventry and no, I haven’t been approached to do something. I would like to see money put by to provide for music lessons for children in schools, a proper legacy. I’m more interested in that than “Here’s a couple of boutique hotels”, and who needs another wine bar for goodness sake? I didn't do anything wrong': Farmer jailed for hiring diggers to illegally rip up trees along river bank speaks out after he is freed from prison and says works were needed to stop flooding Ska is a combined musical element of Caribbean mento and calypso with American jazz and rhythm and blues. Terry: I think politicians love the division. It’s a great thing for them. They thrive on it. I don’t think they want everyone to be together. Brexit has conjured up so much stuff, and all these personalities are appearing, like Jacob Rees-Mogg. They like the division and I can see it getting a lot worse.

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I didn’t realise I was spending the first 50 years of my life in this bubble called depression, and people told me about it but I had no idea what I was doing,” he told the DJ. “And then 10 years ago I had to get attention because of an incident and I found a doctor and she’s got me out of this bubble and said, ‘You know, you’ve got an illness but we can deal with it.’” All the pent-up frustration and boredom of living in Dublin’s roughest suburb was beginning to explode,” the reviewer wrote in Record Mirror, the British music weekly. “It’s difficult to persuade bands to play gigs in Dublin and after tonight I can see why.” Sheridan, Emily. "The Special frontman's Terry Hall's difficult life: child abuse, suicide, and addiction" . Retrieved 12 January 2023. Hall was born in Coventry on 19 March 1959 to a family who predominantly worked in the car industry. He was an academically gifted child and also a noted footballer who was invited to try out for West Bromwich Albion – an opportunity his parents declined based on the inconvenience of travelling across the Midlands. After he sailed through the 11-plus exam, his parents also declined his place at a nearby grammar school. Building on the ska legacy of their former band, Fun Boy Three hit the UK Top 10 with their eponymous debut album (1982), and scored a Top 5 hit single with the infectiously catchy It Ain’t What You Do (It’s the Way That You Do it), its chart-friendliness much enhanced by the addition of the female trio Bananarama. Hall had brought them on board after seeing them featured in the Face magazine.