When Budgie joined up with the Banshees in 1979, I believed he was mad. He was
so hyperactive I think all drummers are - and really Tiggered concerning. Then I
identified what a sensitive soul he ended up being as well, and thought, 'What a
lovable, fine guy.' He'd been to art college and he's actually very educated,
very knowledgeable, unlike me. He'd been in the band for nearly two years, and
I'd come to regard and admire him, and then we did the first Creatures EP
collectively. Budgie always knew exactly what I meant. Musicians who have
qualified in an orthodox way are often a little bit lacking in the imagination
department: 'More treble?' 'I don't know. Yes, I suppose - more like a drill!'
He recognized my vocabulary.
I knew the connection was going to go
someplace else when we were on tour in springtime 1981, somewhere like Essen in
Germany, somewhere that had really already been blown to pieces in the Blitz,
and I was really low. Here I was, on tour with a bunch of men, and starting to
hate everyone. Me and Budgie were the only ones who were being quiet in our
areas, and I knocked on his door with some wines and some tapes, and said, 'I
really need to just have a drink and a talk with someone and play some music,'
and it really went from there. I saw him as an individual to confide in,
initially; it wasn't at all sexual. It's ironic how things turn out.
Why
did we get married? It was practically like he was suffering from Siouxsie's
Boyfriend Syndrome. Of course, it was something I wasn't aware of. I wasn't
labelled as 'Budgie's girlfriend' - I'd have hated that. It was partly a
perverse idea as well: getting married is such a regular thing to do. I didn't
need a piece of paper to prove what we had together, but we both like rituals,
and as soon as we realised we could control the ritual, and not have something
completely traditional, I thought, 'Another chance to get dressed up!' It hasn't
really transformed our relationship.
He's very grounded. That's unusual
in the music business. He hasn't got a aggresive bone in his body. I've never
known him to be spiteful. He's totally trustworthy and he's very genuine.
Occasionally I can be very demanding; God, I really fly off, I know I must give
him hell. But I think we're both captivated to elements in the other that we'd
like to have more of ourselves. I'm very direct, I don't like pussyfooting close
to, and he is less easily flapped. I can be a bit of a drama queen. Budgie's
reaction is to get out of the way. We've never really had a huge row; sometimes
I can scream and shout, but half an hour later, it's gone away - no feuds. I've
actually found out that Budgie's not baitable. He goes, 'Yeah, what
ever.'
We do both give each some other space. I'm aware, when we're
working, that we've almost got different heads on. I hate it when couples who
work together canoodle and get all cosy: it's very excluding of other people. In
a way, it's how we escape each other - we go to work, turn out to be different
people, and when we go home, it's a different relationship.
Budgie (Peter
Clark): I first saw Siouxsie on stage at Eric's Club in Liverpool. At that
point, 1977, I was at art college, so I got some modeling wax and some copper
wire and made a little figure standing up at a microphone stand. I saw her again
when I was with the Slits, and we were promoting the Banshees. And then, in
1979, I got a call from the manager of the Banshees, and he said, 'We need a
drummer,' so I met with Siouxsie and (Steve) Severin in a bar opposite the old
Music Machine in Camden Town. They had vodka and orange, and Siouxsie was
smoking Rothman's, and I had a pint of bitter and was cigarette smoking
roll-ups. That was it: the next thing, I was on stage with them, with the crowd
understanding all the songs better than I did. And as soon as I went wrong,
Siouxsie turned around and glowered at me, making sure everyone knew I'd gone
completely wrong, but there was a twinkle in her eye.
It felt very
natural. I was never ruffled by her. Maybe it's because I saw beyond the facade.
We'd both lost a parent at an early age: I lost my mommy when I was 13, and
Siouxsie lost her father at 14. It's a very strange thing, but you know they'll
never see what you're accomplishing, and you feel it's terribly unfair. We were
both born in 1957, and we both have a significantly older brother and sister.
But we didn't find this out for ages, because all of this was soft, soppy,
sensitive, emotional family stuff, and we didn't talk about things like that.
Instead, we got top quality and pierced and tattooed - well, I didn't actually,
but I thought about it. I just bleached my hair.
It all happened very
abruptly between us during 'Wild Things', the first Animals EP. There was a very
strange sexual chemistry in the air and it came to a head during a photo session
at a city-centre hotel in Newcastle. The air was electric - you can see it in
the pictures. It was as if it was inevitable. But it was quite covert at first,
because relationships usually ruin the chemistry of the band. And maybe that's
something to do with why we've been able to stay together over all these years.
We give each other that space. We certainly need our own bathrooms on the road;
that's crucial.
I think she'll most likely tell you that I spend more
time in the bathroom than she really does, but she spends more time in front of
the make-up mirror. The Creatures has always been more personal. It was how we
escaped from the band - it was like eloping - and did something fun, just the a
couple of of us. In The Creatures, we didn't have to hide our true feelings for
each other.
I think there are commonalities between actors and vocalists.
They both have to dig down so significantly, to touch the nerve that prompts the
voice that says those words; and it's draining. I'm a support system in lots of
ways, but I need to give support to Siouxsie, because it was warranted - because
she moved me, I suppose. I couldn't have done it without her power.
