| Neil
This was started off in a house near Corydon and then demoted in Wandsworth.
It's basically a remake of the demo we did there. The idea came when we
were driving through King's Cross with these two friends of ours, Pete and
Steve, and Steve actually muttered, 'someone told me Monday, someone told
me Saturday...' and I thought, 'King's Cross.. what a good idea for a song'.
I have no idea what he was actually talking about. It was about a football
match or something. I liked the idea that you'd been given contradictory
instructions, and it gave me the idea of a song where you're being pushed
around. And then I thought, 'wait until tomorrow, and there's still no way'.
I wrote it down when we got to Chris's flat. I started writing the music
on my guitar and to begin with it was very very Bob Dylan. The demo was
much slower, more hymn-like. King's Cross-is the station you come to when
you come down to London looking for opportunity from the Northeast, then
the most depressed part of England. And there's lots of crime around King's
Cross - prostitution, drug addicts, and a lot of tramps come up to you there.
I just thought that was a metaphor for Britain - people arriving at this
place,
waiting
for an opportunity that doesn't happen, waiting for the dole queue or
some documentation for the NHS. It's about hopes being dashed. You can
read a book about what you should do, or write a letter to the paper,
and still nothing happens because no one cares. The first line sets up
the song. It's an angry song about Thatcherism. Mrs Thatcher came in on
the promise of firm government and I'm interpreting 'the smack of firm
government' literally as hitting someone. That's what firm government
tends to mean - you hit the weakest person, the man at the back of the
queue. I think there's something almost Biblical about 'only last night
I found myself lost...' It's like an epic nightmare. 'The dead and wounded
on either side, it's only a matter of time,' is another Aids reference.
At the end - 'so I went looking out today' -there's a detective, and he's
looking for someone, and this mythical place, King's Cross, is the end
of the line, the place from where there is no escape but death. It's the
death of all hope. And I'm saying that waiting there isn't enough. You've
got to break out, you've got to react, start a revolution. You can't just
behave in a fatalistic way. I still think it's one of our best songs,
and I love the video where Chris gets off the train that Derek Jarman
made of it for our 1989 tour.
Chris
It's very sad.
Neil
When we recorded it with Stephen Hague, he suggested that it should have
a key change in the Middle, which we added. He also went and recorded
the trains going through North London to King's Cross, which you can hear.
The last verse came from an argument I had with my best friend from Newcastle.
He was very down, and he said we'd got where we were because we'd had
so much good luck and he hadn't had good luck. He said, 'you can't deny,
Neil, you've had a lot of good luck in your life'. I said, 'it's not about
good luck- it's a matter of knowing what you want to do and sticking with
it'. I felt a bit guilty the next day. There seemed to be this appalling
contrast between the ways our lives were going. In the original running
order of the album 'King's Cross' was the first track. My friend listened
to it and said, 'well, that's great, you've managed to make the album
sound really boring'. After the album came out there was the King's Cross
fire, and The Sun wanted us to release it as a charity single.
Chris
and in our film It couldn't happen here, there was a man on fire
when it's playing.
Neil
That was very spooky. Jack Bond, the director, asked the widow of someone
who'd been killed and she said, 'you should leave it in'.
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