For all their impeccable ‘greatest band of all time’ credentials, The Beatles will always have one fatal flaw. That name. It’s a painful pun, influenced by the equally poorly named The Crickets and what’s more it’s the refined model. They were, of course, formerly The Silver Beatles.
Still, at least they were trying. The Fabs’ contemporaries didn’t set the bar particularly high. From Gerry and the Pacemakers to Freddie and the Dreamers via the very literal Dave Clarke Five, beat combos seemed to be treating their monikers without due care and attention. The exception would, I suppose, be The Rolling Stones who got a bit lucky thanks to Muddy Waters.
No, it wasn’t until The Beatles dying days that the art of the intriguing and innovative band handle really came into its own. With a dollop of irony and a comment from Pete Townsend (who had already picked a pretty clever title for his own outfit), the world was introduced to Led Zeppelin – a phrase we have now heard so many times we don’t see the meaning any more.
Through the 1970s the floodgates were pretty much open. A satanic Boris Karloff movie gave us Black Sabbath, Richie Blackmore’s grandma’s favourite colour brought Deep Purple and a spitting, farting Nik Turner delivered the unforgettable Hawkwind. And you thought it was something psychedelic and mystical, didn't you?
In a golden era for group names, the decade threw up coincidences – The Lovin’ Spoonful and 10cc both taking their cue from ejaculate; Genesis and The Grateful Dead from biblical references - and statements of intent. Punk and the new wave certainly set out to sweep away the rock establishment as represented by bands like Queen (named for more regal than sexual reasons) with records like ‘God Save The Queen’ but they showed no intention of slacking in the band name stakes. From the brutally frank, The Clash (“How appropriate” said a magistrate sentencing the band’s Paul and Topper) to the more esoteric Buzzcocks (not a vibrator reference as you might assume, but an adaptation of the question ‘What’s the buzz, cock?), the late seventies saw, if anything, an escalation in the excellence of the art.
If the soubriquet Sex Pistols (no ‘the’) isn’t the finest band name of all time, it is the sterling work of the bands from the following decade that overshadow it. For here in the conservative, homogenized 21st century one will look long and hard to find the poetry and exoticism of identities like The Teardrop Explodes, Wah Heat, Killing Joke, Bauhaus and Echo and the Bunnymen (who along with Siouxsie and the Banshees used the ‘and the’ format to much greater effect than those the early 60’s outfits).
For some sorry reason though, we appear to have lost the desire or ability to produce band names to inspire anything more than a shrug. The Arctic Monkeys is a rotten name for a group – worse when Alex Turner says he just thought of it once at school. Wow, what an anecdote. And what is it with Black Eyed Peas? Who in 1985 would have opted to name their gang of rock and roll brigands after a beany pulsey thing? I am honestly struggling to think of a band which has achieved success since the turn of the millennium sporting a killer moniker. Mumford and Sons? Kings of Leon? The Feeling? I'm not running down the output of these fine musical fellows, but the names are just so anaemic they’re paler than Sophie Ellis Bextor. Who has a great name, by the way.
So when did it go so wrong? When did we stop getting a little trill of excitement when somebody mentioned a new act named Sisters of Mercy or Joy Division? It could be the rise of the talent show / boy band brigade – Boyzone (a worse pun than The Beatles and stupid now they’re men), Westlife (meaningless and dumb), Take That (juvenile) and Girls Aloud (just silly) – that have dragged down the standard.
But wouldn’t it also be fair to point a finger at the single syllable sinners of the 1990s? Pulp, Blur, Ash, Lush, Curve, Cast, Verve – that’s right, I mean you. Very lazy, very trite and, although they had three syllables, Oasis are not exempt. It’s bad form to be named after a leisure centre chaps.
Worse still to call your next band Beady Eye.
Still, at least they were trying. The Fabs’ contemporaries didn’t set the bar particularly high. From Gerry and the Pacemakers to Freddie and the Dreamers via the very literal Dave Clarke Five, beat combos seemed to be treating their monikers without due care and attention. The exception would, I suppose, be The Rolling Stones who got a bit lucky thanks to Muddy Waters.
No, it wasn’t until The Beatles dying days that the art of the intriguing and innovative band handle really came into its own. With a dollop of irony and a comment from Pete Townsend (who had already picked a pretty clever title for his own outfit), the world was introduced to Led Zeppelin – a phrase we have now heard so many times we don’t see the meaning any more.
Through the 1970s the floodgates were pretty much open. A satanic Boris Karloff movie gave us Black Sabbath, Richie Blackmore’s grandma’s favourite colour brought Deep Purple and a spitting, farting Nik Turner delivered the unforgettable Hawkwind. And you thought it was something psychedelic and mystical, didn't you?In a golden era for group names, the decade threw up coincidences – The Lovin’ Spoonful and 10cc both taking their cue from ejaculate; Genesis and The Grateful Dead from biblical references - and statements of intent. Punk and the new wave certainly set out to sweep away the rock establishment as represented by bands like Queen (named for more regal than sexual reasons) with records like ‘God Save The Queen’ but they showed no intention of slacking in the band name stakes. From the brutally frank, The Clash (“How appropriate” said a magistrate sentencing the band’s Paul and Topper) to the more esoteric Buzzcocks (not a vibrator reference as you might assume, but an adaptation of the question ‘What’s the buzz, cock?), the late seventies saw, if anything, an escalation in the excellence of the art.
If the soubriquet Sex Pistols (no ‘the’) isn’t the finest band name of all time, it is the sterling work of the bands from the following decade that overshadow it. For here in the conservative, homogenized 21st century one will look long and hard to find the poetry and exoticism of identities like The Teardrop Explodes, Wah Heat, Killing Joke, Bauhaus and Echo and the Bunnymen (who along with Siouxsie and the Banshees used the ‘and the’ format to much greater effect than those the early 60’s outfits).
For some sorry reason though, we appear to have lost the desire or ability to produce band names to inspire anything more than a shrug. The Arctic Monkeys is a rotten name for a group – worse when Alex Turner says he just thought of it once at school. Wow, what an anecdote. And what is it with Black Eyed Peas? Who in 1985 would have opted to name their gang of rock and roll brigands after a beany pulsey thing? I am honestly struggling to think of a band which has achieved success since the turn of the millennium sporting a killer moniker. Mumford and Sons? Kings of Leon? The Feeling? I'm not running down the output of these fine musical fellows, but the names are just so anaemic they’re paler than Sophie Ellis Bextor. Who has a great name, by the way.
So when did it go so wrong? When did we stop getting a little trill of excitement when somebody mentioned a new act named Sisters of Mercy or Joy Division? It could be the rise of the talent show / boy band brigade – Boyzone (a worse pun than The Beatles and stupid now they’re men), Westlife (meaningless and dumb), Take That (juvenile) and Girls Aloud (just silly) – that have dragged down the standard.
But wouldn’t it also be fair to point a finger at the single syllable sinners of the 1990s? Pulp, Blur, Ash, Lush, Curve, Cast, Verve – that’s right, I mean you. Very lazy, very trite and, although they had three syllables, Oasis are not exempt. It’s bad form to be named after a leisure centre chaps.
Worse still to call your next band Beady Eye.
