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What does

‘Tutti Frutti’

say to us now?

Bob Cant

‘Tutti Frutti’ was one of the great television hits of the 1980s. This black comedy that traced the fortunes of the Majestics, an ageing rock band, as they toured around Scotland on their 25th anniversary tour, went on to develop a devoted cult following.

     Over the years I have been witness to countless drunken impersonations of the banter between dodgy promoter Eddie Clockerty and his imperturbable PA Janice Toner. The BBC only released it on DVD a couple of years ago and after such a long build up I approached it with feelings that were a mixture of affection and trepidation.
     Some TV programmes made in Scotland, and I’m not only talking about ‘Monarch of the Glen’, focus so much on the beautiful scenery and the interesting architecture that they feel as though they could have been made been by VisitScotland; no-one could say that of ‘Tutti Frutti’. This particular ‘road movie’ went to places such as Buckie or Ardrossan or Methil not known for glamour or excitement. The Scotland that the Majestics visited was a country that we all recognised from the endless concrete, the dreich wee bungalows, the shoddy B&Bs, the overworked acres of farmland, the unloved tenement stairs and the angst-ridden hospital waiting rooms.
     The language of much of the dialogue was also highly recognisable; when we heard a woman telling a child who was irritating her to ‘stop footering aboot, ye wee footer’, we knew where she was coming from; when one of the guys in the band asked another: ‘Hiv you and her stopped winching?’, we knew that the script had not been written by an old Etonian posh boy. The recognisable features of ‘Tutti Frutti’ made it feel like a world that we knew that we belonged to – a bit like the way you feel at a family funeral with folk whom you know too well but you convince yourself that it’ll all turn out fine once you’ve had a drink.
     Despite the fact that the Majestics wandered around the whole of Scotland, it was very much a West of Scotland gig and a chance to promote regional stereotypes never went amiss. As soon as you saw a man wearing a kilt, you knew you were in the East of Scotland. Janice revealed her sophisticated Glaswegian roots when she speculated on whether the wireless would have reached Buckie.
     The underlying theme, behind all the humour, was the construction of working-class masculinity in Scotland. The industries which had given men so much of their status were on life support in the late 80s and, just a few years previously, the miners’ strike had marked a resounding defeat for the ‘Big Man’ political culture.
     The Majestics had come into being in the economic boom of the early 60s when half the young men in the country had wanted to become Beatles and, while they presented a different image from the world of heavy industry, that was a world which provided their audiences and gave them nurture. When one of the Majestics described himself as the ‘Iron Man of Scottish Rock’, we recognised where his sense of self came from.

Men who have attempted suicide are clearly in some despair about what
they want from their lives; there is a sense that some of them no longer
know what men are for in a post-industrial society.

     While all the Majestics were heterosexual, there was a definite absence of women of their own age on screen; it was evident that these women existed elsewhere but they were very much in the tradition of the invisible but deadly battleaxe. One of the band had been dragooned into childcare, the most memorable part of which seemed to consist of him draping nappies over his drum kit; clueless was the word that best described their approach to domestic labour.
     All but one of the relationships which we saw were between middle-aged men and younger women. The absence of women was also evident in the Majestics line-up on stage; it seemed as though there could be nothing worse than a ‘chick’ in the band and when one was recruited to play guitar she had to drag-up like some 50s rocker and spend most of the time with her back to the audience.
     In the later episodes the comedy took a back seat; there was an attempted murder, a phantom pregnancy, a suicide off a bridge, an episode of domestic violence, a revenge attack on a dentist and a final self-immolation on stage; the only remotely feminist behaviour was when a middle-aged nurse vented her feelings about her adulterous husband by burning all his possessions. Hollywood happy endings were not an option.
     Nor can we take comfort that the world has moved on since the 1980s; Scots masculinity is hardly a laughing matter in 2012. Following the collapse of the Scottish banks and the destruction of once respectable career opportunities, middle-class masculinity has been problematised as much as working-class masculinity was back then; work can no longer be relied upon to give men a sense of meaning in their lives. The suicide statistics for men in Scotland are much higher than they are for women and they are also much higher than they are for men in England and Wales. Men who have attempted suicide are clearly in some despair about what they want from their lives; there is a sense that some of them no longer know what men are for in a post-industrial society.
     There are no quick or easy answers to the problems of masculinity but at least ‘Tutti Frutti’ and the shambolic (but recognisable) lives of the Majestics helped us to reflect upon them through laughter. It’s nearly time for a golden jubilee celebration for the surviving members of the band. Perhaps John Byrne could be persuaded to write something to be woven into the cultural dimension of the Commonwealth Games. Would the Majestics today be ready to be a support band to the Friockheim Lesbian Orchestra? I wouldn’t place any bets on it.

Bob Cant is editor of ‘Footsteps and Witnesses: Lesbian and gay lifestories
from Scotland’