SIK - The Beginning

"Six Inch Killaz have gone to the great cathouse in the sky." So says Mona Compleine as the preface to the Six Inch Killaz clearing house of links. Well, physically, tha Killaz may have passed through the catflap, but spiritually? Hell, no! Why, surfing my ass across the worldwide web, I find so much stuff relating to this most wonderful of TV punk rock groups, that it seems to me our influence is now greater than ever before! For those of you who don't know our story, however, let me tell you how it all came together...

One night in November 1994, I was at the WayOut club in Knightsbridge, standing at the bar getting methodically pissed, when Steffan Whitfield, the WayOut's delightful (and now sadly deceased) host came up to me and asked if I would be interested in taking part in a "talent search" showcase the WayOut would be holding in a couple of weeks time. I, of course, found it impossible to resist such a promise of instant fame and fortune, and having recently discovered punk rock via a battered second-hand copy of the Sex Pistols' "Never Mind The Bollocks", I thought to myself, "what better than to form my very own TV punk rock group?" Inspired by the examples of Sid Vicious and Dee Dee Ramone, I had bought myself a bass guitar and learnt to play in no time at all, and since I already knew another tranny by the name of Mona who played guitar (and owned his own drum machine into the bargain), it seemed only logical to ask him if he wanted to join! Which he did, of course... after all, how could he refuse... playing with a loser like me in a non-existant punk group...

Photo: Pearl.

Having hoisted Mona on board, the next thing I needed to do was find a glamorous and charismatic singer, and at the WayOut the following Saturday, fate sent him to me in the shape of Holly. Holly I had seen at the WayOut on several previous occasions, and in his basic outfit, he had always looked fantastic. (At that time, his "basic look" consisted of thigh-length black patent leather boots with stiletto heels, black stockings, and a skintight black viscose top over which he wore a pink silk baby doll dress. On one occasion - the real reason I got into punk rock - he was even wearing a Sid Vicious T-shirt on top!) That night, however, when Holly walked into the WayOut, I received a shock the like of which I have not received before or since. In addition to his usual costume, Holly was wearing a big blonde wig with a headband of pink plastic flowers; and his make-up had been effortlessly applied onto an opaque buttermilk foundation. The overall effect was that of a giant china doll making its way across the dancefloor to the womens' toilets; and as if that wasn't enough, Holly had neglected to wear false breasts of any description, as if to suggest that he was not only a china doll, but a pre-pubescent one at that. Outrageous, I thought, or what? The spectacle of a grown man dressing himself up to look like an eight-year old on their way to a fancy-dress party struck me as truly revolutionary - sexual terrorism, in its purest form. And then, as he passed within a few feet of me, Holly, noticing my presence, turned, winked at me, and then continued on his way. At that moment, sparks exploded in front of my pupils, and I could feel the blood flowing through my veins.

Holly @ tha Killaz gig @ Kitsch Bitch, Madame Jojo's; 11/11/98. Photo: Sarah Demetriou.

I knew that here I had found my singer. And so, at 3 am that same night, as the WayOut was closing, I decided that the time had come to make my move. 'Holly,' I said, approaching him as he stood at the bottom of the stairs getting ready to leave, 'I've got three things I want to say to you; first, I think you're the most beautiful, glamorous and deeply attractive tranny I've ever seen.'
'Oh, thanks little girl,' said Holly, clearly flattered; 'You look really nice too.'
'Second,' I continued, my heart in my throat, ready to burst, 'I don't want to have sex with you, you know? That's not what this is all about.' (I was worried, you see, that Holly might think that I was coming on to him.)

'Oh, that's alright,' Holly replied; 'I only like guys myself.'
SHIT! I thought. 'Third,' I said, by now trembling all over as I struggled to get the words out, 'I've been putting a tranny rock group together for this talent search the WayOut's going to be holding next week. I'll be playing bass, and I've got a guitarist who's also got a drum machine, but I need a singer to complete the line-up. Would you be interested in being the singer?'
'Oh, but I can't sing, little girl,' said Holly with a frown.
'That dosen't matter,' I replied, waving my hand dismissively; 'so long as the line-up looks good, it dosen't matter what we sound like, right?'
And there and then, Holly agreed to be in my embryonic pop group. Simple as that, huh? A few days later, I went over to King's Cross and stuck through Holly's letterbox a tape which Mona and I had fudged together the previous week - an instrumental cover of the Pistols' "Belsen Was A Gas", with Mona playing lead guitar and myself playing a fuzzed-up ostrich guitar (all the strings tuned to the same note). The idea was that on the night, Mona and I would each play guitar, with the backing tape behind us and Holly singing over the top. I'd even written some lyrics for Holly to sing; lyrics I had titled "WayOut Was A Horse". (I was taking a lot of acid at the time.)

The evening passed. Holly and Jasmine proceeded to get themselves drunk on a two-litre Coke bottle filled with vodka and Coke, which they'd smuggled into the club. Mona fiddled with the equipment, and I drank some GBH I'd bought earlier that day - only to discover it had no effect on me whatsoever. I'd been burnt!
At last it was time for us to perform. As Steffan announced our act, the four of us trooped out of the dressing room and onto the stage, and with the back-up tape providing... well, back-up, we began to play - for about the next thirty seconds, at which point, the club's sound system broke down, leaving us with no other option than to turn around and troop back into the dressing room. BOO! HISS!
Don't worry, it all gets much, much better from here onwards (for a group that lasted five years, you'd fucking well hope so, wouldn't you!)... To discover the rest of tha Killaz' amazing story, click here, and you can read the whole sordid tale, as told by our quickly-added second guitarist, Miss K... (Note: Sorry the photos and MP3s are missing; K's blog is no longer with us, and as such, his history comes courtesy of those wonderful people at The WayBack Machine - however, you'll find all the Killaz photos you could possibly wish for at both my and Miss K's Six Inch Killaz flickrsets...)