Although they were active from the mid-1980s, I first discovered the existence of The Ceramic Hobs in an early 90s issue of the beloved Betley Welcome Careful Drivers catalogue/zine, which was the informative newsletter of Ashtray Navigations’ Phil Todd’s mailorder. What I read made me want to hear the band immediately, but it took me a couple of years to get hold of their stuff. In those pre-internet days, information flowed slowly through the postal service, delivered in small packets, mostly, containing cassettes and photocopied flyers, zines and handwritten letters. Information arrived a lot slower, especially in my case considering how far away I lived. Regardless, receiving packets from abroad was an irreplaceable source of happiness for most members of the underground scene. So when I finally got Ceramic Hobs’ music I was delighted to discover a unique and challenging band with no fear of defying categories of any kind.

More than a decade later, I met Ceramic Hobs co-founder Simon Morris in person. It was on my first proper UK tour. I opened in Newcastle at Vamos Festival with Lee Stokoe (aka Culver) as careful driver. Later we went up to Scotland and then headed to Leeds and Sheffield before driving all the way down to London and Brighton. But, despite a pretty heavy schedule of playing in all those cities, we couldn’t refuse the opportunity to visit Blackpool, the infamous seaside resort on the Lancashire coast. In truth, we decided to go there even without having a proper show, at least not a real one at a venue with any kind of PA and fee. In fact, the plan was first to visit the beach and the North Pier and then to play an outdoors set with Culver on the Woodlands park which had a small Second World War bunker. With the help of some friends we set up a couple of battery operated amps at the bunker facing the park and played. Simon and a few other local people – plus the odd uninformed pedestrian – showed up. Despite the small amplification, our short set was intense enough and everybody seemed happy. The low quality photo [above] was taken with a disposable film camera and it’s the only document I treasure of that park event. Simon’s facial expression says it all. The evening only really started after the show, with Simon as master of ceremonies of course. He took us on a long city tour taking in Blackpool’s downtown, a female punk band gig and fish ’n’ chips dinner before we ended the night seeing Nick Unlimited, Lemmy Kilmister’s primary school friend who never left the town and stayed playing in small pubs. The whole journey was a blast, and Simon’s comments were so funny, sharp and clever, making this a night to be remembered. Blackpool was the real highlight of that tour.

Over the years Simon stayed active, his boundary pushing work with Ceramic Hobs gradually gaining the attention it deserved. For his music he additionally used an arsenal of inventive nicknames such as: Jimmy Egg, Greasy Walter And The Razors, Salty Grouse Castration Squad, Blood Klat (In Spume Bummer), Iron Lion Zion, Orange Sunshine, Zonia Almond Must Try Harder, and so on. He also played in various diverse bands including Ambulance Chasers, Chocolate Feeding Frenzy, Eddy Vomit & The Fat Bastards and Three Schizophrenics, as well as collaborating in projects like Vukovar or the seminal A-Band. He was also a pretty prolific writer. Over the last decade he published several books, Civil War, Sea Of Love and Watching The Wheels, among them.

Simon was extremely honest, never hiding his own mental health problems. That’s why he was an intense Mad Pride activist, presenting talks and concerts in support of a worldwide movement protecting the rights of people with psychiatric issues. Indeed Ceramic Hobs’ classic 1998 album Psychiatric Underground (Pumf) led me to reflect time and again how brutal the imposition of the normalcy standard paradigm can sometimes be. It got me wondering how can such a standard be defined in artistic terms? Who is in charge of setting this standard? What purpose does it serve? And why don’t we have more inclusive options? Any answers of course exceed the possibilities of this article but these and other questions need to be constantly addressed if any hope for change can be expected.

Almost month ago now, the news of Simon’s passing shocked the media and had a massive impact on all those who had the fortune to meet him, as well as those fans and people who respected his writing, music and performances. If diversity is still a desirable value on this increasingly complex planet, his voice will be truly missed. So far the only thing I can do is remember that amazing summer Tuesday in Blackpool highlighted by Simon’s smile.