John Cooper Clarke

I've just been listening to the Paul Morley documentary on John-Cooper Clarke on Radio 4, and the talk of how he deflected hecklers with humour reminds me of when I saw the estimable punk poet supporting Be Bop Deluxe at the Manchester Apollo. A rather geeky chap I was with (no names, no pack drill, Jonesy) yelled out half way through his number: "We want Be-Bop!" Quick as a flash, Clarke riposted: "Just Ships in the Night". Sure enough, who remembers Be-Bop Deluxe these days? Meanwhile, JCC is up there on a cultural plinth, being fêted on the tranny.
Incidentally, some time around the time I saw him in concert, I remember being on a school outing to the Goethe Institute in Manchester with my A-level group when I spotted JCC outside a shop. I pointed out to those around me, not particularly loudly, "Hey, look, it's John Cooper Clarke". Noticing that he'd been spotted, he seemed to take fright, turn tail and march off smartly. Maybe that was the period when he was heavy into heroin with Niko, and we looked odd and menacing through the druggy haze. Maybe he thought we were monsters from outer space, just landed with his ex-wife, pursuing him for alimony.