In late 1991 I jumped on stage with my band Strangelove at the Camden Underworld for our first ever performance.

I had taken amphetam*nes and drunk some vodka in an attempt to deal with my nerves - it was my first drink after a year of sobriety in which I'd concentrated on writing music.

Before this, I'd experienced problems with drink and had been sent for treatment at a centre dealing with alcohol and drug problems. I completed three weeks before walking out, convinced that my interest in music would keep me sober and fill the gap alcohol had left. Throughout my subsequent year of sobriety, I became more and more withdrawn, isolated and alienated from other people. I had no idea why this was, and remained completely unaware that the problems of an alcoholic / addict don't end with putting down the dr*g of your choice.


For a while I only used alcohol or drugs when I had to perform. We were signed to Food records and EMI publishing - a dream come true. But I found meetings difficult. If I didn't drink, I couldn't say anything and I'd go away feeling frustrated and angry with myself. In the studio I was also experiencing problems. I had strong ideas about how the songs should feel, but found this impossible to explain. I couldn't contribute as much as I would have liked - but instead of attempting to learn ways around this, I internalised it and went off on a roller coaster of self pity, resentment, anger and drink.


Interviewswith the music press were a nightmare. My work is very personal and I found it nearimpossible to discuss it with anyone, let alone with journalists. I felt I had totry, so I came up with a plan to overcome my lack of confidence: I experimented withvarying doses of alcohol, speed and valium in order to produce a state where I couldbecome lucid about my work. I literally fell asleep half-way through an interviewwith the NME (thank God it was never published), so the next time, with Melody Maker,I took so much amphetam*ne I couldn't speak at all for about 20 minutes and whenI did, it was vaguely suicidal and extremely confused to say the least. After manyfailed attempts, I eventually tried a Melody Maker interview straight - all I canremember was that I sat there shaking. 

My work is very personal and I foundit near impossible to discuss it with anyone, let alone with journalists...In Britain,how you come across in the press is ridiculously important to your chances of success,and even though we had received a lot of support, I couldn't help but think whenI read my interviews that I was somewhat inadequate; I seemed unable to communicatewhat my songs really meant. Also, I would take the slightest criticism in the pressas proof of this.

InBritain, how you come across in the press is ridiculously important to your chancesof success, and even though we had received a lot of support, I couldn't help butthink when I read my interviews that I was somewhat inadequate; I seemed unable tocommunicate what my songs really meant. Also, I would take the slightest criticismin the press as proof of this. I would be deeply hurt and throw myself into drugand alcohol binges. 

Otherbands who were doing well all seemed to have singers with a very different personalitythan my own. Or was it that they could feign that they were cocky, self-confidentand content in a shallow sort of a way without a glimmer of self-doubt? I knew oursongs were genuinely different and genuinely good, but I couldn't just seem to strutaround like a walking advertising board for them - it seemed crass.

I stopped reading any music papers and told my manager I couldn't do interviews.My self-esteem was plummeting now due to drinking. I felt more and more inadequateand needed a drink just to be on my own. I was drinking every waking hour and takingamphetam*nes to keep me sober enough to function. I had become consumed with thefear of failure and carried around a feeling of impending doom that rarely left me.
SomehowI had got it into my head that my inability to operate in this music press-type worldwould lead to our failure and our ability to release records would ultimately betaken away from us.
Idid, however, feel a sense of achievement at the live performances. Here was a senseof freedom and a chance to sing the words I'd written. It was a real release and,for a while, the one thing that got me through. I am eternally grateful to the peoplewho turned up and gave me the chance to do this. But I was beginning to lose control.
Iwas sick and tired of being sick and tired. My personal life was now in tatters -and I decided my last chance was to throw what was left of me into our album. Somethingwas left in me that wanted to do something positive. Thank God. To work on songs,I would force myself to straighten out, I'd take valium for a few days and shakeand sweat and vomit my way into a sort of sobriety. I would reduce the valium, eventuallyfacing the terror of being straight, and wait until I could write. I'd work untilI was satisfied with what I'd done, then reward myself by sinking back down intoself-destruction.
Thisprocess happened on every one of the songs on the album. However, with the supportand genius of the rest of my band and producer Paul Corkett, I was involved in creatinga brilliant album, Love And Other Demons, which I am immensely proud of. Shortlyafterwards I was booked into a rehabilitation clinic.
This,I am sure, has undoubtedly saved my life. I no longer fear failure but truly believewe can and will take Strangelove anywhere we want now. Although I still have baddays and still experience fear, depression and self-doubt I deal with it differentlynow. Thank God.
by Patrick Duff (left)
of Strangelove
for The Guardian
7/6/96


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灌水灌水

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稀罕我个小破吧的精华~

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还有，我会告诉你，俺乐队主要就是在翻唱muse么

求人工翻译 一整面的外星文文 扫一眼就头大