Lyndon Nutkins: vocals, bass, guitar
Martin Mays: vocals, guitar
Kathryn May: vocals, percussion
Throughout the times I’d been in other bands, I had always collaborated with my old friend Martin. We became next door neighbours, often used to pop next door to each other’s places with our guitars for a jam, and became flatmates.
Our roots had always been in making acoustic music, and this next venture grew out of an attempt to capture one of Martin’s most beautiful songs, “Shooting Star”, in a definitive version.
Kathryn had been a friend of ours for many years – in fact she sold me my distinctive blue acoustic – and we often used to sing together informally. This time we brought her in for the recording, and she contributed some wonderfully ethereal vocals as well as contributing to another three-part harmony section of the variety I have always enjoyed in bands.
This led to a handful of gigs, of which I remember the Essex Arms in Brentwood, the Cramphorn Theatre in Chelmsford and the opening of the new Tap arts centre in Southend. Just the three of us singing, two guitars and a tambourine. It was in many ways the purest music I’ve ever made – no electronic trickery or anything.
It, That and Them, apparently, was the name of a playground game from Martin’s youth. We did play one show as “Is That Them?”.
But it was always a very part-time venture, and at a point in my life where I got made redundant, lost my Mum and started up in business as a self-employed graphic designer, the music took a backseat for a while.
Then, a phone call from Martin. Did I want to join him and Richie for a jam? What harm could it do? I ventured next door to find my friends trying out some of our old numbers, and we came over all nostalgic. There was a drum kit in the loft nobody was playing, and I stepped in. It was magical. We were amazed that all our old musical muscle hadn’t wasted away, and started replacing the tracks with some of Martin’s newer, more politically charged material. We were now, or would shortly be, the 99.