On the face of it this looks like it could be the gig of the decade, and it gets better, because the support band were The Beastie Boys whose riotous paean to soflad self-indulgence ‘Fight for your Right to Party’ had just crashed into the charts. Run DMC’s duet with Aerosmith, ‘Walk this Way’ was a mid-eighties air-guitar dream and when I found one of them was called Simmons I felt part of the family. They added a swagger to my post-student UB40 gravy days. One of the last intake at St Clements Road was a jovial blond southerner called Richard AKA ‘Tricky Dicky’. Whenever we saw him around the library at this time we broke into a chorus of Run DMC’s follow-up single ‘It’s Tricky’. It sure was. With tabloid terror tales of hoodlum teenage gangs ripping badges off Volkswagens to dangle from their necks, blue flashing lights and Anderton’s alsation-wielding head-crunchers on stand-by for The Riots, Round Two, how did it all go so wrong at The Apollo that night? It just left me feeling a little flat. I was twenty four at the time and it was a bit of a wake-up call that I was growing up and had left certain things behind or maybe just never acquired them in the first place. The whole baseball-cap-on-backwards pose just didn’t do it fo me, the chains and the jewellery, baggy pants hanging off raggedy arses. Not my thang, baby. Perhaps it was because Big Alex wasn’t with me to cause mayhem down at the front but this wasn’t his thing either. Instead I was perched up on high, looking down at what appeared to be a convention of ugly softlads in bad ill-fitting clothes, a sea of ridiculous movements and gesticulations accompanied by a cacophony of shrill pre-pubescent voices and whistle-blowing. The average age seemed to be about fourteen. The giant inflatable penis thing which was supposed to be so hilarious just left me feeling flaccid. I felt middle-aged and ready to move on. Don’t get me wrong, I still love a little bit of rap and hip-hop but all the other accoutrements were not for me.