An Interview With Evel Winter
From The British Rock Magazine ‘Telescopic Knife’
June 198-
TELESCOPIC KNIFE: Over the last year or so, Evel, you and your chapter of Hell’s Angels – the Ghouls – have been getting a great deal of publicity from the media. That more or less dates from the change of government at the last Election and the legalisation of youth movements, such as Skulls and bikers. What we’d like to know is where were the Ghouls before then?
EVEL WINTER: Well, sweetie. We were around all right, but remember how tough the laws and the police were. It would have been like cutting our own throats to wear our colours.
T.K.: You use the word ‘colours’. Do you really think that you can claim to be real Hell’s Angels when you wear these bright clothes and wear makeup? The original bikers wore filthy Levis and denim jackets soaked in excrement, urine and vomit. They rejoiced in being dirtier than anyone else and they used their clothes as one way of blowing the minds of ordinary people.
E.W.: Yeah. But the point is that straights are really outraged the moment someone does something that is different. Some brothers like pukey gear, but we go the other way. We like sharp, clean threads. Lovely soft, caressing silks and satins. Smartness, love.
T.K.: And the makeup?
E.W.: Remember some of the pop bands a few years ago. All camping around with snakes and weird gear. It was just a cult for a bit. But, we reckon, why not?
T.K.: One thing that surprises a lot of people is that you never seem to have anything to do with girls. No women ride with you. You’re never accused of gang-bangs.
E.W.: So fucking what! Listen duckie, we get right pissed off when smart trendies try to make out we’re queer. A lot of people have had breakies in their legs for that kind of thing. Be careful or one night you won’t make it back to your Beacon Road flat.
T.K.: How did you know where I live?
E.W.: Because we’re careful. When you asked for this talkie, I got a few brothers to check you out. That walk back from Caledonian Road is quite lonely, isn’t it?
T.K.: All right, Evel, you’ve made your point. Incidentally, can you tell us about your name. Where’s it come from?
E.W.: There was a great wheelie man ten years back who actually jumped a hog right across the fucking Grand Canyon. Jet-propelled with a parachute. His name was Evel Knievel. Bloody maniac but the biggest class you’ve ever seen. Snuffed it finally trying to fly his Harley off the bridge at San Francisco. He made it okay but a police launch hit him when he came up and took his arm off. They tried to sew it back on but he died in the hospital. Shame. He used to wear the most lovely white leather suits. My old man took me to see him once. Super!
T.K.: How about your clothes, Evel. Where do you get them from?
E.W.: We all go to the same place. The satin comes from a gorgeous little man in Ladbroke Grove – ‘Fireclown’ his shop is called. The boots come from ‘A Load Of Cobblers’ in Camden Town. I get my makeup from the ‘Quaint Fairy’ range.
T.K.: I must say that you certainly look a lot nicer than another Angel I interviewed a few years ago. His name was Vincent and he ran a chapter called the Last Heroes.
E.W.: Yes, dear, and look what happened to him. The chapter hardly exists now. They’ve got a new pres called Gerry and they spend all their time chasing sheep up mountains in Scotland or somewhere equally silly. Like my friend Melvyn Molineux said; there’s only room at the top for one, and that’s us. We’re the top. Number One. Cream of the crop.
T.K.: Thinking about Number One; what sort of music do you like? I understand that Traditional Jazz is quite popular with the Ghouls.
E.W.: Yeah. Chris, Acker and Kenny. Lovely sounds. Drop out to that any time.
T.K.: Any modern bands?
E.W.: It’s all too noisy for my shellies. Makes the brain do the whirlies. I don’t mind Mealy Plum or Consumer Society. And Oldham Apollo. Nobody else.
T.K.: One last question. If the Last Heroes ...
E.W.: I’d prefer it if you called them by their right name.
T.K.: What’s that?
E.W.: The Last Zeroes.
T.K.: All right. What will you do if they come down to London and challenge you to prove who’s the top?
E.W.: Don’t worry about that. Put me and Gerry in a room together and you wouldn’t even need to open the door afterwards to let him out. The creepy little bastard would be able to crawl out under it.
T.K.: Thanks a lot.
E.W.: Peace and love. Sweetheart