5 Things You Didn’t Know About 60 Ft. Dolls

Introduction

Think you know 60 Ft. Dolls? Think again. For a band that got lobbed into the Britpop bucket (despite protesting every step of the way), there’s a lot more to them than “Happy Shopper” and those overly tidy “Welsh Oasis” headlines. The Dolls had grit, rebellion, and a lot of untold tales.

Here are five things you probably didn’t know about them. Not just the music. The people. The fights. The missed chances and the moments that still linger.

1. They didn’t see themselves as Britpop. Not even close.

Call them what you want. Britpop? Nah, they hated that. The press tried to lump the Dolls in with whatever shiny thing came out of Camden at the time. But they rejected that label outright. “We were a rock and roll band with pop sensibilities,” said drummer Carl Bevan. And they meant it.

The Dolls weren’t in it to ride coattails. They were raw. Unfiltered. Bands like Supergrass were “fun,” the Dolls said, but that wasn’t them. The mismatch was obvious. Britpop was too polished, too safe. The Dolls didn’t want to be a palatable package. They wanted to shatter something. Or at least crack it.

2. Carl Bevan’s rebellious streak wasn’t an accident.

Drummer Carl Bevan wasn’t just your average teenage rebel. He came from a background so strict it practically built the foundation for the chaos that followed.

His dad, Ray Bevan, was a full-on evangelical pastor in one of the UK’s biggest churches. Carl’s first experience on the drums wasn’t in a studio or on a festival stage. It was in church. Gospel hymns and spiritual rhythms. But the clean-cut act didn’t stand a chance. Bevan was sacked from his church drum stool at 19—for being spotted drunk in town. (Talk about a very public exorcism.)

He walked out the door and into the Dolls. And that pent-up aggression? It set the tempo for everything they did after. Ironically, his dad contributed guest vocals to the band’s rare white-label single “Let The Spirit Move You.” Awkward family dinners, anyone?

3. Mike Cole almost joined Oasis. Almost.

The Dolls’ bass player, Mike Cole, was a hairsbreadth away from joining Oasis in 1996. Imagine that timeline. Noel Gallagher asking you to take over for Paul McGuigan on their US tour. But Cole turned it down. No second-guessing. No begging for a spot in the rotating Gallagher circus.

Before joining the Dolls, he played in Newport’s The Darling Buds. (Though even that gig felt cursed. They booted him after only three shows.) Rebellion and rejection followed him like a bad smell. Except in the Dolls, it worked.

4. Richard Parfitt helped launch Duffy’s career.

You wouldn’t expect a band as scuffed-up as the Dolls to have a link to a polished pop-soul act like Duffy. But Richard Parfitt wasn’t just a frontman. He was the guy working behind the scenes, making things happen.

Duffy credits Parfitt with changing her life. No exaggeration. He recorded demos with her (alongside Owen Powell of Catatonia), introduced her to Rough Trade Management, and even co-wrote some of her B-sides when she hit fame. That trajectory? It started with him.

5. Elliott Smith showed Parfitt “Miss Misery” before anyone else.

By the time the Dolls were mixing their second album, “Joya Magica,” in New York, Richard Parfitt had settled into a peculiar nightly routine. One that included bar-hopping with the late, great Elliott Smith.

It was during one of these nights that Smith leaned over and played him an unfinished track he’d just mixed for a small indie flick called Good Will Hunting. That track? “Miss Misery.” Imagine that moment. A nearly blank bar. Two musicians, one battered acoustic. Parfitt heard the song before anyone else.

Smith, famously self-destructive, was supposed to record guitar for the Dolls’ album. But it never happened. Another opportunity withered on the vine. Like a lot of things with the Dolls.

Don’t just read about them. Play them.

It’s easy to think of 60 Ft. Dolls as a band that burned bright and fizzled fast. But they didn’t just fade. They lodged themselves somewhere you can’t quite reach.

Go listen to “The Big 3" again. Hit play on “Stay,” “Hair,” “Pig Valentine.” Turn it loud enough to rattle the neighbours. They were, and always will be, a rock and roll band with pop sensibilities. Britpop be damned.

Don’t forget about them. Because you know they’d never forget about you.