Pete Quaife
Peter Alexander Greenlaw "Pete" Quaife (31 December 1943 – 23 June 2010) was an English musician, artist and author. He was a founding member and the original bass guitarist for The Kinks, from 1963 until 1969. He also sang backing vocals on some of their records.
Quaife founded a group known as The Ravens in 1963 with brothers Ray and Dave Davies. Around late 1963/early 1964, they changed their name to The Kinks, and hired Mick Avory as a drummer. The group scored several major international hits throughout the 1960s. Their early singles, including "You Really Got Me" and "All Day and All of the Night", have been cited as an early influence on the hard rock and heavy metal genres. In the band's early days, Quaife, who was generally regarded as the best-looking member, was often their spokesman. Following a ban from touring the United States in 1965, The Kinks focused their efforts on the UK market. Singles such as "Sunny Afternoon" (1966) and "Waterloo Sunset" (1967) showcased lead singer Ray Davies' observational writing style and became Top Ten hits throughout Europe and the UK. Quaife played an important role on the group's influential album The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society, which featured a strong theme of nostalgia. He departed from The Kinks in 1969 and formed the band Mapleoak, which he left in April 1970.
Podcasts:
B.d.k.i.a.f
Why don't you hang these steps upside down,
We'll walk backwards and feel the blood drain to our heads
While your creeping away why don't we pull the punches back?
And perhaps rebuild those severed ties;
When I felt you destroyed everything I knew
I felt ever so slowly becoming you.
Where has my heart gone, and where has my faith gone?
And why am I still here, hating every breath you take
Where has my heart gone, and where has my faith gone?
And why am I still here, hating every breath you take
Every step you take, and every move you make?
And just wishing that you'd take your fucking last breath toward expiration;
I can't even make myself out in the fog,
You are the swamp,
You are the sand beneath my feet pulling me down.
I have no face for your name, your roots never went any further down;
I felt them writhe in the cellars of my mind,
Rotted through right where they fell, yet here I am.
The wasted pulp of what you are.
Where has my heart gone, and where has my faith gone?
And why am I still here, hating every breath you take
Every step you take, and every move you make?
And just wishing that you'd take your fucking last breath toward expiration;
But at least if I fall
I can say we failed (we failed) together (together)
Sure to be the only thing we ever shared
'cause you were never there (never there)
And I'm yet to feel like I'm even here.
If I sink into the swamp that is misery,