Frank Sidebottom

Chris Sievey died yesterday.

A couple of years ago, when I was working on the last series of the late-night, hardly watched computer games show videoGaiden, I became aware that I was doing a telly show that pretty much gave me carte blanche to do whatever I liked. It’s not something that happens often in telly. It’s probably the kind of thing that only happens when you’re doing a niche show that only a few people watch, and people think you know what you’re talking about.

When we were told that we could get guests involved in the show, there were people who jumped into my head immediately. We wanted Tim and Eric, comedians from America who hadn’t quite yet crossed over to the UK, and we wanted Frank Sidebottom. Mainly Frank.

Why Frank?

I remember the first time I saw Frank Sidebottom. I’m pretty sure it was on the children’s show No. 73. Here was this man in a suit with a giant head. And nobody made any reference to the fact that here was a man in a suit with a giant head. I remember him giving the thumbs up and smiling, despite the fact he couldn’t smile, because his features were just drawn on.

Then there was the Oink! comic. Oink! was the kind of comic you’d never see these days. It was like Viz for kids. I remember one issue had a free flexi-disc single on the front, and the lyrics went “Poo Poo Tinkle Tinkle Parp Parp Oink Tiddly Widdly Widdly Widdly Plop!” and it was the best thing that I’d ever heard. And Frank was in there too. Frank and Little Frank. Frank with his big beautiful eyes and his massive head that stopped being massive and just became Frank’s head. I had no idea who Chris Sievey was. There was only Frank. Everywhere, it seemed.

We had a videoGaiden Christmas Special, and had some time in the middle for a musical performance. Gerry McLaughlin, another member of the videoGaiden family, agreed that Frank would be a great fit. Gerry had his own shows on Channel M in Manchester and had worked with Frank many times. Myself and Ryan Macleod, my partner on the show, had already bored Gerry with questions – “What is he like? Have you seen under the head?” We wanted to meet Frank too. We wanted to touch the hem of his battered suit.

It wasn’t Frank Sidebottom who turned up, though. It was Chris Sievey. He walked onto the studio floor in a paint-spattered suit (he’d been doing some mental Blue Peter style craft thing on telly the day before) and with his real, actual, real, ACTUAL head on show. He looked a bit worse for wear, like he’d not had much sleep. I was standing at the other side of the studio, and saw Chris walking in. I was terrified.

I forced myself to walk over and shook his hand. I wanted to say “Frank, it’s an honour to meet you” but instead I was saying “Chris, it’s an honour to meet you.”

As ridiculous as it might sound, I think this was when I first realised that a man had created Frank Sidebottom. A man, just a guy, just this guy, had one day thought this madness up in his normal-sized head. He’d imagined it, and then he’d done it. For decades. This brilliant comedy character that became more real than any comedy character ever created.

It’s an honour to meet that guy, isn’t it?

Chris was quiet, likeable, keen to get his head on and get started. The head was bigger-looking in the flesh (I said “flesh” – EXACTLY) and a bit battered. Chris did something to his nose, I’m not sure what, I didn’t want to see the secrets revealed, and then popped the head on.

And BANG. Zap! Just like that, he was Frank Sidebottom.

“Where do you want me, lads?!” A spring in his step. A different person. Then this happened:

I remember standing watching, Ryan beside me, Graham Russell (the one man band who pretty much steered videoGaiden on his own) beside me, and we all felt the same way. We felt lucky. Pinch yourself stuff.

We got Frank back later in the series, in the very last episode of videoGaiden ever ever. We wanted as many of the “videoGaiden family” involved as we could, and I think we pretty much coined that term so we could feel related to Frank.

His death was a blow. Frank Sidebottom, that character, was a special thing. He existed in my head as a lovely childhood memory, and yet when I met him years later it was only me who had aged. I was bald, out of shape, and he was fit and young with his big giant eyes as bright as ever. How could that guy die?

When you do comedy, particularly sketch comedy, you’re always searching for a strong comedy character. You’re always dreaming of coming up with something that takes on a life of its own. Chris Sievey didn’t just come up with a character that took on a life of its own, he lived that life. He pulled himself back into the shadows and was true to Frank. He never sold the character out, never cheapened it. He never became a superstar, and was never given the credit he deserved. But Frank was fine with that, so I imagine Chris was too.

His influence? Man. I realised just yesterday, when rewatching Frank Sidebottom stuff, that I quite often come up with characters who bang on about their mum. That’s from Frank. I also got the feeling yesterday that I wasn’t doing enough.

Look at what Chris Sievey did. A talented musician and comedian, he could maybe have achieved a similar level of success doing session stuff or conventional stand-up. But he didn’t. Let’s not understate this – HE PUT ON AN ENORMOUS PAPIER MACHE HEAD AND CREATED AN ENTIRE UNIVERSE. Timperley. Little Frank. His mum. His shed. His shorts. He didn’t Zag when you expected him to Zig. He Zogged. He made himself immortal. It makes your standard comedy character with the daft suit and daft beard and daft voice and three minute lifespan seem pretty weak, no?

I’m convinced that in a hundred years, a 10 year old boy will stick a wire into his neck and stream a video clip of some episode of some show or other into his brain, and Frank Sidebottom will just happen to be a guest. And that 10 year old boy will say the same two things we all did when we first saw him – “What the hell is that?!” and then “Oh, Frank’s going to get what for from his mum…”

I’m so happy I met him, and so sad he’s gone.