Jeremy Cunningham and Charlie Heather are the bassist and drummer of political folk rock sextet the Levellers. Formed in the late 1980s in Brighton, the band were beloved by the disfranchised – travellers, “crusties” and punks – until their second album, Levelling the Land, catapulted them to the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury as headliners in 1994. To date, they have released 12 UK albums and 14 Top 40 singles. The Levellers’ latest album, Together All the Way, is out now. They play the Beautiful Days festival in Devon in August.
Jeremy
I get the sense from our expressions in this photo that we were feeling relieved. We’d just jumped off stage at a festival in Düsseldorf. Before that, we’d done a few small club tours in Europe, but this was way bigger and it was a good show. That’s why we’re really sweaty and have beers in our hands, and other forms of contraband! I’m dressed in a dirty pink T-shirt that belonged to the girl I was with, and an old man’s suit waistcoat that I’d had for years, with a couple of badges stuck on it – one I got from Ireland with the three Celtic dogs on it, and another rusty one with a radiation symbol that I got from a Crass gig.
We were still on the dole at this point, but I was slowly coming to the realisation that I might be able to live as a musician. It was a few months later, in the summer of 1991, that we recorded Levelling the Land and started earning about £25 a week through our music. When I went to the dole office for the last time, the girl who worked there said she’d never signed anyone off as a musician before. I haven’t had to get a proper job since – happy days!
I met Charlie before the rest of the band. I was living in a squat and his girlfriend moved in next door. Charlie came to visit and it transpired he was a drummer. I really liked his style of playing: until then I’d played with drummers who wanted to be the centre of attention. I’d think: “Just fucking play boom-cha-boom-cha!” Charlie was happy to do that, so it was a match made in heaven.
As well as his musical abilities, I liked Charlie as he was like me. We squatted together – until the bailiff threatened to break our legs unless we got out in the next 20 minutes – and we were both the type to pick butts off the dole office floor to make a cigarette. Having said that, Charlie was the one who had the most jobs. I couldn’t be bothered to work as soon as the band was busy – but Charlie carried on. He worked in a T-shirt factory for a bit. The first Levellers T-shirts were liberated from the factory, and I added my screen prints.
Charlie is married to the same girlfriend he was with when that photo was taken. He’s got a whole family. I don’t – I still live on my own, but our friendship has stayed pretty much the same. We are easy-going people, have similar beliefs and still really enjoy each other’s company. We’re not that emotional when it comes to talking to each other, but Charlie has been a brilliant friend.
In the early 90s, my substance abuse got in the way of the band. Drink and drugs, alcohol and heroin. They hated that I used. Heroin is a drug that separates you from everyone, and the group was quite right to be concerned for me. I went to rehab multiple times because of Charlie and the rest of the band. I am really thankful to have had their moral support and tolerance, too.
Charlie
This was a spur-of-the-moment photo taken by Steve Gullick, who was following us for a feature. Inspired by new-age travellers, we got an old bus and turned it into a punk-rock tour van with a wood burner in the back and our own bunks. It was great fun, but the fact we even made it is a miracle. The problem with the bus was you had to keep fixing it when it broke down. I can see my fingers are a bit dirty in that photo – possibly covered in oil. A pipe had come undone on the way there, and only me and Jon [Sevink, the violin player] and our tour manager knew how to use a screwdriver. We used to draw short straws, or matchsticks, to see whose turn it was to fix it. Looking back, I realise I never saw the long stick. I think I got stitched up!
I’m in a sweatshirt, which I’m pretty sure I nicked off my girlfriend, Jill, who is now my wife. As for the things in my hand – I think it might be a cup of wine, and it looks a bit like a roll-up, but I’m pretty sure it’s something else. I never have a spliff before the show though. It’s not a good idea – I get too distracted and start playing the chorus too early.
The whole of 1991 was a blur. We had lots of gigs and never really thought about where it was going. It wasn’t until we were at Glastonbury in 1992, and I was watching a film in the cinema tent and looked around and a load of people were wearing Levellers T-shirts, that it hit me. Maybe I had the blinkers on, just getting on with it, driving the bus, fixing the bus, doing the gig, then coming back. I realised that I had to enjoy the moment as it might not last. But here we are 35 years later!
Jeremy and I had mutual friends, and I quickly realised he was the bass player that I’d always wanted in a band. He actually looked rather scared of me at first. A bit like he didn’t want to meet me in a dark alley. But I took to him straight away. He had dreadlocks even then, short ones. Eventually we formed a friendship/alliance in the group. Neither of us were brilliant at playing, but as the rhythm section we had energy and we had ideas.
I have a photo collage in my brain of amazing memories of Jeremy. There’s one of him walking on to the Pyramid stage, and one from when we were touring around America and we’d been stuck on the bus for days, and all of a sudden we were at the Grand Canyon. I have this really vivid image of seeing him looking out at the view. I also remember visiting Jeremy in rehab. It was as if he was lost within himself. But the thing about Jeremy is that he is the sort of person who would never let the side down.
What helped him get through his terrible addiction was for us to say: “The band is over without you. We’re not going to replace you. We’re not going to carry on.” Jeremy couldn’t let that happen. He realised he had something bigger than himself to look after, and he worked for that rather than himself.
These days, the group call us Tweedledee and Tweedledum as we’re always bickering. We’ll just go off on a tangent about whatever we’re playing, and the rest of the band will look around the room as if to say: “How long is this argument going to last?” It’s never serious, we just want to get it right, whether we do it politely or shout it. It’s better out than in, which is probably why we’ve been doing it for three decades. Plus, I don’t have to fix the van any more. That’s someone else’s job now.
