Thro’ My Eyes: A Memoir – Iain Matthews with Ian Clayton | Book Review | Route | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 01.01.19
I picked up Iain Matthews’ autobiography during the break between two sets at an intimate Matthews’ Southern Comfort gig in an unassuming Pontefract pub, having just witnessed a rather fine opening set from the vantage point of a front row seat. I don’t think I had any intention of buying this book or any book for that matter, having far too many piled up on the arm of my sofa at home awaiting attention, yet there was something that drew me to this book. Perhaps it was due to the fact that both Iain Matthews and his ghost writer/helper Ian Clayton were present at the pub on this particular night; it could have had something to do with the sudden realisation half way through the band’s opening set that I knew little about its subject, other than the fact that he was in an early incarnation of Fairport Convention, that his was the first voice to be heard on the band’s torchlight song “Meet on the Ledge”, that his next band had a smash hit with Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock”, that his other band Plainsong appeared on the Old Grey Whistle Test one evening just as I was preparing books for school the next morning. Added to these hazy recollections was the memory of seeing a later incarnation of Matthews’ Southern Comfort more recently at a winter festival in Skeggy of all places and that I actually got to speak to him backstage for a good half hour. What else did I need to know? Well lots apparently. The title of Thro’ My Eyes is taken from an early song on Iain’s debut solo record If You Saw Thro’ My Eyes, the LP with the swirling Vertigo label that’s currently on the player as I write, and suggests the book’s intention from the start, to explore a life very much lived from the author’s personal perspective. It’s pretty much a warts and all memoir, which takes us on a journey from an early Northern childhood in both Scunthorpe and Barton-upon-Humber, through to the bright lights of Piccadilly Circus and Carnaby Street in the ‘Swinging Sixties’, and on through his earliest involvement in music, to his middle years in the States and more recently that of mainland Europe. One or two loose ends are neatly tied up for us, such as the question of the McDonald/Matthews, Ian/Iain confusion, which is all explained here and is notably far less pretentious than initially imagined. Though the story takes us from one exciting episode to another, where we see evidence of Iain’s brushes with a veritable list of high profile musicians (Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Richard Thompson, Eric Taylor), there’s also an inherent sadness that looms in the shadows, occasionally present on the songwriter’s furrowed brow in some of the pictures included and sometimes in the words of his songs. Songs are an important part of Iain Matthews’ story and each chapter here is prefaced by lyrics from his prolific back catalogue. If like me, you have the rare ability to multi-task and are not particularly fazed by listening to music as you read, having a handful of Iain’s records by the player can be useful. Iain can be candid in his revelations and refuses to shy away from his own insecurities, his open confessions of possible family neglect whilst in search of his own muse, his disappointments, his distrust in others, his episodic relationships and his mistakes and miscalculations along the way. This is an honourable quality throughout the book although occasionally you want to shake him. Through the decades though, we see a singular artistic bent and a desire to make good music and write great songs, both alone and in the company of others, a pursuit that continues to this day and that will no doubt go on until mortality becomes a tangible issue.
Nothing is Real – David Hepworth | Book Review | Penguin | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 01.01.19
When David Hepworth ventured into the world of books after years of writing insightful articles and essays on all aspects of popular music, I wonder if he realised just what he was getting into? Barely a couple of years into this relatively new enterprise and we see Hepworth’s instantly identifiable bright orange dust jackets standing proud on the shelves in every good book shop; three already published and one more on its way in 2019. There’s a very good reason for this and it has nothing to do with the fact that orange is the new anything in particular, but it’s because Hepworth knows his stuff and therefore we trust him. Let’s face it, he’s had plenty of practice writing about music, establishing and then editing magazines, broadcasting on both TV and radio and more recently through podcasts, whilst backing up his musical knowledge with at least 20,000 records at his disposal. He’s keen to listen and more importantly he’s keen to observe first hand some of the great moments in pop’s wild history, whilst you and I watch from the comfort of our armchairs. Possibly the most memorable of Hepworth’s countless encounters was with Bob Geldof at Wembley Stadium on a hot midsummer’s day in the middle of the Eighties, just as he dropped the f word mid-afternoon on live national TV, during which Live Aid was making history. If 1971 Never a Dull Moment talks about Hepworth’s own personal annus mirabilis, a notion enjoyed all the more if you happen to be at least half way on his side – just one glimpse at my own long player archive soon reveals that we very much share this notion – and Uncommon People discusses the finite era of the Rock Star from Little Richard to Kurt Cobain, then Nothing is Real, the third orange-covered Hepworth offering, addresses our misconceptions and misunderstanding of such things as the function of pop managers, the importance of good drummers, the ridiculously over populated world of pop genres and subgenres (and dare I say, sub subgenres) to what we should play at funerals, the woeful demise of the record as an object and the record shop as an institution, each subject leaving this reader nodding in approval at the end of each chapter. Not quite as exhaustive as either 1971 or Uncommon People, yet equally enjoyable, which you could possibly get through in one sitting if you have the time to spare. Collected in this slim volume, Hepworth’s short essays are largely informative, to the point and with no apparent sniff of sycophantic hero worship, yet none of his views come across as highly critical either. Rather, he’s an observer who likes to simply point out some of the things pop and rock fans may have overlooked along the way and as would be expected, there’s no shortage of lists, the music buff’s essential ingredient. Although The Beatles figure large at the beginning of this book, the title in fact borrowed from one of the band’s many masterpieces, the content has a much broader canvas. However, Hepworth’s insights reflected in earlier essays do point towards little patience for those who undervalue the band’s importance in the popular music arena. The bold and sweeping statement printed on the cover, that the Fabs were indeed underrated, is a good place to start – what follows are notions delivered with equal authority.
Viral Verses – Art in Exceptional Times | Book Review | Borthwick Press | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 03.10.20
With a dedication to the late Edward Tudor ‘Ted’ Crum, a victim of COVID 19 and a friend to some of the contributors to this collection of poems and illustrations, Viral Verses is a gathering of empathetic writers and illustrators, each with a shared vision of navigating through an unprecedented period in our lives. Edited by Nicholas Linstead and Stephen Linstead, this collection has been published in aid of NHS Charities Together and to highlight a true sense of togetherness. With an introduction by Margaret Drabble, who eloquently reminds us of the power, beauty and importance of poetry, Viral Verses captures human empathy at a time when such things are needed most. Being locked down and locked up behind closed doors with only our thoughts, our music and time on our hands to catch up on all those neglected books we’ve been meaning to read, a vital ingredient is missing, that of social contact with friends, relations, neighbours and potential new acquaintances, all of which we take for granted in less uncertain times. Viral Verses endeavours to make up for this by demonstrating unity in both words and pictures, with a real sense of a combined effort. With so many diverse voices, of differing angles, thought waves and viewpoints between each writer, this book brings a sense of variety both in its individual styles and its execution. Mike Harding’s contributions are accompanied by exquisite drawings by Jed Grimes, whilst Jessie Summerhayes elects to accompany hers with her own minimalist illustrations. These illustrations range from simple cartoons, the odd pair of slippers for instance, or a needle and thread, together with a few monochrome photographs, to Alan Andrews’ vivid poster art and Bryan Ledgard’s Manga-inspired ‘bone-handled knife’, artworks that offer a broad spectrum and all of which serve to bring vivid images to these carefully constructed words. Ray Hearne begins a short poem by staring at a painting on his wall by his friend John Law, while John in turn reminds Ray (and the rest of us) of some of the things that made us what we are today, from the games we played on the streets to such school day treats as Jubblies, Kali and Arrowroot Rock, while watching Captain Pugwash, the Flowerpotmen and Watch with Mother on the box; things we like to recall, especially in these bleak times. Heath Common describes Powis Square in the early hours of the morning as the Swinging Sixties reaches its conclusion, bumping into a Performance-era Mick Jagger, while meditating on the outgoing Brian Jones and the Pink Fairies, with Marc Bolan “living down the street”, illustrated in contemporary style by Bryan Ledgard’s hand. Evocative stuff indeed. If times like these force us to look back with a sense of nostalgia and longing, then they also make us sit up and take note. The pandemic is addressed head on throughout, in such poems as “Pandemic Low Tide in Holderness” by Stephen Linstead, “Evenings in Isolation” by Violet Hatch, “Love in Lockdown” by Gareth Griffith, “Oh Land! World Pandemic” by Adekunle Ridwan and “Lockdown” by David Driver, an optimistic and funny take on the predicament we find ourselves in. Joe Solo’s title alone, “This is Our Blitz” speaks volumes in just four words, accompanied by Alan Andrews’ bleak and doomed illustration. Then there’s the NHS, our heroes in this drama, who are revered in verse. Ralph McTell, no stranger to verse, reminds us of the “Masks and Gowns”, while Paul Thwaites spells it out clearly, that the letters N H S stand for much more than National Health Service, poignantly illustrated with an angel, courtesy of the hand of Graham Ibbeson. Singling out such poems hopefully does no disservice to the others. We often hear the words “we’re all in this together” as if we’re all living through the same common experience, which of course we’re not. I’m sure a government minister, a school teacher, a nurse, a labourer or a retired grandparent are all experiencing completely different things, not to mention the homeless man on the street or those stranded far from home. All these poems and accompanying illustrations are equally relevant, in that they express singular and individual experiences, yet there’s a good chance that the reader will empathise with many of them. When things begin to improve and we begin to see a light at the end of the tunnel, quite possibly marked ‘new normal’, Viral Verses will still be just as relevant and important and therefore will make a valuable addition to your bookshelf.
Annye C. Anderson and Preston Lauterbach – Brother Robert: Growing Up With Robert Johnson | Book Review | Hachette Books | Review by Liam Wilkinson | 30.12.20
The mythology associated with Robert Johnson will, most likely, never be shaken off. Whenever we hear those beautifully haunting recordings of “Sweet Home Chicago”, “Terraplane Blues” and “Come On In My Kitchen”, it’s so easy to let that unique voice and slide guitar carry us off into the realm of legend. How else can such an exquisite talent be bestowed upon a human being than via a blessing from the Devil himself? Brother Robert: Growing Up With Robert Johnson gives us a much needed glimpse of Johnson the man and the musician, rather than the ethereal figure from the tall tales. It’s the memoir of Johnson’s stepsister Annye C. Anderson, the little girl who remembers watching her brother’s slender fingers moving along the fretboard of a guitar she was not allowed to touch, written with author Preston Lauterbach in her ninety-third year. Lauterbach has allowed Anderson to tell her story in her own voice, complete with her warmly magnetic accent and dialect, which helps in ushering us closer to the man behind the myths. We hear, in this brief but engaging book, how Robert talked, how he dressed, how he wrote, and of the affectionate relationships he had with his family and friends. We also hear of the hardships Johnson and his family faced in 1920s Mississippi and Tennessee, where money was tight and racial tensions were even tighter. It is this candid aspect of the book – the kind of wonderful candour you’d expect from a forthright woman of a certain age – which places it firmly amongst the must-reads of these new Twenties. Whilst the first part of Brother Robert provides blues fans with an enticing glance at our hero, the second part reveals the horrors of Johnson’s legacy at the hands of white fraudsters, money-hungry music companies and the many shadowy figures who have jumped at the chance of exploiting the bluesman’s family and fame, not to mention the lengths Annye herself has gone to in order to protect her brother’s reputation. And however we choose to remember Robert Johnson, whether its as a poor black musician with an unequaled skill or the troubled artist who sold his soul at the crossroads, there’s one thing that no one can dispute; this is the last chance we’ll get to read a first-hand account of the greatest bluesman of them all.
Philip Norman – Wild Thing: The Short, Spellbinding Life of Jimi Hendrix | Book Review | Weidenfeld & Nicolson | Review by Liam Wilkinson | 08.01.21
Philip Norman has steadily carved a niche for himself over the years. Since the 1981 release of Shout!, his somewhat controversial book about The Beatles, Norman has provided us with the go-to biographies of such notable musicians as Elton John, Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Paul McCartney and John Lennon. And whilst some might balk at his often opinionated and provocative style, Norman always guarantees a rattling read. His latest offering considers the life and immortality of one Jimi Hendrix, an artist who continues to fascinate, puzzle and astonish his fans. Wild Thing: The Short, Spellbinding Life of Jimi Hendrix tells the story of a musician whom, fifty years after his untimely death at the age of 27, we may feel we know inside out but will probably never truly know. And that’s exactly what I loved most about this short but engaging biography, that it was peppered with small surprises and intriguing, though never earth-shattering, revelations about an artist I thought I was beginning to understand. The first portion of the book takes a detailed look at Jimi’s youth, shedding light on his difficult upbringing and his time in the military, where he would dedicate most of his concentration to experimenting with a cheap guitar, even sleeping with it each night in his barracks. We then follow his early outings with Little Richard and the Isley Brothers, his fascination with Dylan and his life-changing meetings with Chas Chandler and Keith Richard. The second portion of Norman’s biography takes us to London, where Jimi enchanted the cream of the British music scene with his unearthly talents and striking good looks, leading the likes of Eric Clapton and Paul McCartney to bow down before him. Finally, the book explores Jimi’s third act, in which the drug-addled, hard-drinking, sex-obsessed global megastar defied the ongoing issues with his health, relationships and professional management to take the festival crowds by storm before dying, pitifully, of a sleeping pill overdose in a London townhouse. Whilst the bones of the story we already know are very much there, it’s the treasure-encrusted asides and digressions that make this book a treat. There are curiously long paragraphs on the subject of Jimi’s hair, for instance, as well as remarkable tales of the psychedelic god who preferred a bag of chips and a game of Monopoly backstage in Hull and Ilkley over the more common excesses of the rock star lifestyle. There are also some remarkable glimpses behind the scenes of the major festivals such as Woodstock, where his Monday morning performance was impacted by scheduling problems, and the Isle of Wight, where another guitar legend by the name of Bert Jansch lay beneath the stage as Jimi’s monster vibrations shook the little island. We’re also lucky to have, in this book, an extremely detailed catalogue of the events of Jimi’s final days, including an absorbing few pages on the subject of his last performance at the Open Air Love & Peace Festival on the Baltic island of Fehmarn.
Loretta Lynn – Me & Patsy Kickin’ Up Dust: My Friendship with Patsy Cline | Book Review | Grand Central Publishing | Review by Liam Wilkinson | 17.01.21
There’s a scene in Michael Apted’s 1980 biopic Coal Miner’s Daughter in which a thirty-year-old Patsy Cline offers her old maternity clothes to a pregnant Loretta Lynn, a gesture not only of kindness but of love. There’s a magic in that relationship, beautifully captured by Beverly D’Angelo and Sissy Spacek, which clearly transcends the friendship between these two country legends. Indeed, some of the film’s most memorable scenes are those in which we’re offered a curious glimpse of this remarkable bond, a sisterly attachment that was cut so tragically short when Patsy Cline was killed in a plane crash in 1963. One of the twin girls, with whom Loretta was pregnant at the time of Patsy’s death, recently had the good sense to persuade her eighty-eight-year-old mother to finally write a book about this intriguing relationship. Patsy Lynn, named in memory of Cline, had been hearing the stories all her life and, thanks to her, the tales are now preserved for all time in what is a fascinating, warm-hearted and often revealing memoir. Written entirely in Loretta Lynn’s distinct Kentucky vernacular and featuring fifty-one brief and engaging chapters, Me & Patsy Kickin’ Up Dust is an illuminating double portrait of two extraordinary women, both climbing the ladder of success and supporting one another along the way. Loretta’s humility is both astounding and endearing as she paints Patsy as a big sister or, at times, a surrogate mother as she strives to beat her own path through the male-dominated country music scene. We hear about the way in which Cline helped her to understand the business, to perform, to present herself and to cope with the adversities of marriage, motherhood and music. But whilst Loretta shows us the strong, protective Patsy, she is also candid in her descriptions of occasions when Cline relied on that “little gal” from Butcher Hollow. It was, as Patsy sang, “true love”. Loretta’s new book will provide a riveting read for fans of both artists as well as anyone interested in the art of song-writing and the business of country music. It’s also a meditation on the importance of friendship and sisterhood in a world that all too frequently attempts to inhibit both.
Jed Pitman – The Invisible Man: The Story of Rod Temperton | Book Review | The History Press | Review by Liam Wilkinson | 28.01.21
There’s a timeless charm about Cleethorpes. If you look beyond the garish facades of the Lincolnshire seaside town’s amusement arcades, fish and chip takeaways and gift shops, you’ll find a few alluring treasures of decades passed. There’s the ornate balustrades of the shops along Alexandra Road, the Art Deco-style architecture of Darracotte’s Ice-Cream Parlour, the beautiful Victorian pier and the adorable Cleethorpes Coast Light Railway which, for a small fare, will transport you to The Signal Box Inn, more commonly known as the smallest pub on the planet. But, as you stroll along its quietly pleasant promenade, there is little to suggest that Cleethorpes might be in any way connected to the King of Pop. Look a little closer, however, and you may spot the plaque that informs us that this humble little town gave birth to the man who wrote “Thriller”. Journalist Jed Pitman has provided us with a much-needed and deeply fascinating book on the subject. The Invisible Man tells the story of the late Rod Temperton, the Cleethorpes-born songwriter who rose to a modest level of fame as the keyboardist with soul band Heatwave only to find himself writing hits for such superstars as Michael Jackson, George Benson and Aretha Franklin. Written in a documentary-style, with extensive and notably affectionate dialogue from such eminent interviewees as Quincy Jones, Michael McDonald and Herbie Hancock, Pitman’s biography delves engrossingly into the series of events that took Rod from the Humber Estuary to Germany, where he would write his first successful song “Boogie Nights”, and from there to Los Angeles where Rod began furnishing Michael Jackson with the songs that would come to define his solo career. Whilst chain-smoking over a beat-up keyboard, this shy and gentle white man with an unshakable Lincolnshire accent wrote “Off the Wall”, “Rock With You” and “Burn This Disco Out” for Jacko’s 1979 breakthrough album Off the Wall, followed by “Baby Be Mine”, “Lady in My Life” and the earth-shattering title track for the 1982 album Thriller. And, thanks to his unique ear and gift for arrangement, Rod worked closely with Quincy and Michael to craft the distinctive sound of both LPs. Pitman whisks us back to the early 80s for several vivid scenes, including the day that Rod quickly scribbled the ghoulish rap for “Thriller” in the back of a taxi, only minutes before Vincent Price recorded it in just two enchanting takes. The book also brims with engaging and heart-warming tales of a man whose shy and unassuming nature seemed to contradict his enormous impact and success. “He had this Cleethorpes accent that didn’t fit in with the stuff he was writing at all,” remarks fellow composer John Cameron, the man behind the soundtrack to Ken Loach’s Kes, whilst Quincy Jones comments that he was always happy when Rod and his wife Kathy showed up and “showed us how to do shepherd’s pie because I love shepherd’s pie!” The book is also littered with praise for Rod’s prowess as a songwriter, noting the methodical, often painstaking way in which he structured his compositions and his almost otherworldly gift for sumptuous basslines and exquisite melodies. Indeed, by the middle of the book it’s clear that Rod wasn’t lucky to work with the aforementioned Jackson, Benson and Franklin as well as Patti Austin, Chaka Khan and Donna Summer – they were lucky ones to get to work with Rod. Rod Temperton sadly passed away in 2016 at the age of 66. Whilst the musical world mourned the loss of one of its most cherished songwriters, the general public may have inadvertently overlooked the death of this invisible man. We’re extremely fortunate, therefore, to have Jed Pitman’s wonderful book which stands as a monument to this most unique of men.
Luca Chino Ferrari – Glen Sweeney’s Book of Alchemies | Book Review | November Books | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 25.02.21
More of a scrapbook than a rock biography and seemingly devoid of any serious editing, judging by the amount of missing or incorrectly spelled words and the occasional faux pas (weren’t the indecisive ‘vultures’ in The Jungle Book and not Dumbo as stated? but that’s me being far too picky for my own good). This collection of writings, poems, lyrics and interviews, gathered together in one volume gives us an insight into the mind of Glen Sweeney, leader and driving force behind one of the most unusual and clearly out of step bands of the late 1960s and early 1970s. Glen Sweeney’s Book of Alchemies looks at the Third Ear Band’s origins from the early ‘underground’ bands Giant Sun Trolley and Hydrogen Jukebox, through to the various revisits by subsequent combos in the band’s post heyday years. Some of the bitterness that lurks behind each phase of the band’s existence creeps in through the interviews, conducted between 1996 and 2019 with various ex-members of the band, together with one or two of the key protagonists involved in the band’s colourful story. We find evidence of this when reading between the lines as well as when reading the actual lines themselves, most prominently through the account of founder member, the late oboist Paul Minns, who makes his feelings known with little ambiguity, notably when he refers to his former band mate as both the ‘founder and the destroyer’ of the band and Al Stewart as bordering on the ‘saccharine’ and being ‘as musically interesting as cardboard’. We get the feeling that the members of the Third Ear Band were at loggerheads with themselves, with the authorities and with their peers alike. In one or two cases, you imagine that the author and one time manager of the band, is having to prize information out of his interviewees with a crowbar, Sweeney’s former muse Carolyn Looker for instance, whose almost monosyllabic responses reveal little. With the author following a different set of principles that that of a regular band biographer, we find much repetition in the interviews and writings, therefore many of the band’s key moments are revisited time and again throughout the book, such as the band’s notable turning point, when they had their equipment nicked, which resulted in the band becoming a totally acoustic band. There’s only so many times you can go over that incident, although later in the book there’s a suggestion that it might have been a deliberate ‘in-house’ job. The book includes around fifty illustrations, including photographs of the band, posters, flyers and ads, together with a section on Glen Sweeney’s playful soundbites. There’s also a detailed discography and an extensive day-by-day chronology, which provides a useful timeline of events, especially for serious students of the underground movement of the period. The main bonus for Third Ear Band fans though, is the accompanying six-track CD, which features the pieces that would have made up The Dragon Wakes, the band’s legendary and previously unreleased third album which would have followed Alchemy, Air Earth Fire Water and the Third Ear Band’s Music From Macbeth, the soundtrack to Roman Polanski’s film version of the Scottish play, had the record company not dumped them.
John Van Der Kiste | Roy Wood: The Move, Wizzard and Beyond | Book Review | Self-published | Review by Liam Wilkinson | 15.03.21
Back when I was an obsessed pre-teen Beatles fan, certain that no other song in the world would ever capture the unadulterated joy of “Penny Lane”, my dad asked if I’d ever heard anything by The Move. When he realised that I hadn’t, he immediately ushered me towards the nearest record player and introduced me to “Blackberry Way”. It was, just as my old man had anticipated, a revelation. Here was a song that was equally jubilant and haunting and made every hair on my body stand to attention. And whose, prey tell, was this unique and exciting voice? Naturally, I gobbled down everything The Move had released, including that evergreen anthem of the Summer of Love, “Flowers in the Rain”, the playfully arresting “Fire Brigade”, the powerhouse that is “I Can Hear the Grass Grow”, the melodically astounding “Chinatown” and blissfully jangly “Tonight”. My favourite to this very day, however, is the captivating and whimsical “Curly”, a song which never fails to lift my spirits, even in the middle of a pandemic. John Van Der Kiste’s biography of the man who wrote all those cherished songs was always going to be a delight to read, but I didn’t expect it to be so well-written and absorbing. Indeed, it’s all too easy to overlook the plethora of self-published music biographies that float around the Amazon listings, given that so many of them are little more than extensions of fan blogs or, worse, misguided adventures in vanity publishing. Van Der Kiste’s book is neither. From page one, it’s clear that the book is a labour of love by a devoted fan of Roy Wood and, fortunately, one who resists the temptation to flesh the content out with needless incidental detail and speculation. What you get with Roy Wood: The Move, Wizzard and Beyond is a no-frills celebration of a musician and songwriter who should maintain his seat alongside Paul McCartney, Ray Davies and Graham Nash in the long line of national treasures. The book provides an engaging overview of Roy’s childhood, during which the future member of ELO was brought up on a healthy diet of Rossini and Tchaikovsky, and recounts the moment he first heard Hank Marvin’s guitar which “sounded like it had been dipped in Dettol”. This life-altering sound bestowed an obsession with the guitar upon a young Roy and it eventually led to the forming of several bands. It was with The Nightriders, later to become The Idle Race, that he got his first writing credit and where he met Jeff Lynne. It was also here that the typically very quiet and reserved Roy adopted his penchant for the flamboyant clothing and wild hair and beard styles that would come to define The Move and Wizzard. Tracing Roy’s voyage through The Move, ELO and WIzzard, Van Der Kiste reveals the highs and lows of late sixties and early seventies pop, with some eyebrow-raising tales of backstage disagreements and on-stage rows, mostly due to the usual collision of egos. But Wood seems to maintain a sense of balance and modesty throughout whilst his fellow bandmates fight over who gets the brightest spotlight. Indeed, as the fame and fortune of the sixties and seventies fades away and Roy embarks upon a quieter, though not entirely fruitless final two decades of the century, the reader acquires a clear sense that this legendary songwriter and astounding performer has come away with his marbles and dignity intact. And whilst he still doesn’t claim a penny in royalties for “Flowers in the Rain”, due to a prank that upset Harold Wilson, Roy continues to enjoy his legacy as the man who wrote some of the most enchanting songs ever committed to tape.
Richard Thompson with Scott Timberg – Beeswing | Faber | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 01.06.21
In the closing few pages of Beeswing, Richard Thompson regales us with an outline of eight dreams, dreams as surreal as you might expect from the subconscious of an already creative mind. Thompson’s dreams might take on a slightly obscure edge, yet they probably don’t compare at all with the musician’s real life adventures outlined in the previous pages; the rise of a celebrated rock guitarist, the beginnings of a soon to become highly prolific singer-songwriter and the role as co-architect of a brand new genre in popular music. Coming in at around 250 pages, Beeswing covers Thompson’s early years as a young guitar slinger just starting out, his short stint as a founder member of Fairport Convention, his meeting with his future wife Linda, who would go on to help form one of the most memorable of musical partnerships in the history of British Folk Rock, to his conversion to Islam, which would in turn lead to the couple facing some of the big questions on faith and spirituality. Candid and honest, Thompson covers some considerable ground over the fourteen chapters, each with such titles as To Jump Like Alice, Instead of Bleeding and Tuppenny Bangers and Damp Squibs, as Beeswing takes us on a journey through the annals of the sometimes swinging, often very much underground, London music scene of the late 1960s, where playing in a band was an essential pursuit and dressing as a human fly a short lived side-line. Rubbing shoulders with the rock fraternity’s rich and famous would soon become the order of the day, although occasionally our folk hero might be struck with a sense of music snobbery, refusing to accept an invitation to Paul McCartney’s birthday party for instance, adhering to an ongoing disdain for anything that might be described as ‘pop’ music. In just eight years Thompson made five albums with his band Fairport Convention, one poorly received solo effort and three acclaimed albums with his wife before taking a year away from music, whereupon he embarked on a bit of dodgy trading in antiques. Throughout these pages Thompson speaks warmly of his family, albeit with some degree of paternal fear, his dad being a sort of Jack Regan of The Sweeney figure, a serving officer in the Met. In contrast, he enjoyed the warmth of a kind and loving mother, who was always there for him, presumably on those occasions when his dad would grab him by the scruff of the neck while delivering the iconic phrase ‘you’re nicked sunshine’. He speaks of a sister who not only played Elvis and Buddy Holly records, but a girl who ‘pitched her look’ somewhere between Julie Christie and Brigitte Bardot, even at the age of twelve. If these less documented details of Thompson’s early life come as a revelation, it’s with the more familiar events such as the shows at the UFO club, the early incarnations of the bands he would help to form and the meeting with musicians who are now household names, that we find the benefits of Thompson’s vivid recollections. His warm memories of both Sandy Denny and Martin Lamble and his working relationships with other band mates such as Ashley Hutchings and Dave Swarbrick add to the story we’ve all been fully absorbed with for some considerable time. Fairport Convention had its fair share of tragedy, notably the devastating road crash that cost drummer Martin Lamble his life, together with Thompson’s American girlfriend Jeannie Franklyn, all of which left the rest of the band traumatised for some time afterwards, the effects of which are still felt half a century on. Thompson handles the retelling with both humility and respect and fills in one or two gaps in a much told story. Thompson puts his quill down somewhere in the hot summer of 1976, when living close to a Sufi community in rural Suffolk, before the Tour from Hell, a messy divorce and a fruitful solo career which continues to this day. If ever we have the good fortune to come face to face with Richard Thompson, usually as an audience member at gigs and festivals up and down the country, we can detect a wry smirk on his face between songs, usually while delivering an engaging anecdote. I can’t help but feel that Thompson wrote much of this memoir with that self same smirk.
Steve Spence – All Or Nothing: The Authorised Story of Steve Marriott | Book Review | Omnibus Press | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 15.06.21
There are evidentally several Steve Marriotts, the one we remember attired in the most flamboyant of Carnaby Street suits in the midst of the so-called Swinging Sixties, whose garment bill well exceeded his earnings, then there’s the cockney Artful Dodger character, who we see being strangled by an elderly neighbour in the 1968 “Lazy Sunday Afternoon” promo film years ahead of the so called ‘pop video’. Turning to soulful hard rock, there’s the diminutive rock n roller who tells a packed Fillmore East audience that during the band’s latest American tour that ‘we ain’t ‘arf had a gas this time.. it’s really been a gas’, before launching into a blistering “I Don’t Need No Doctor”. But what of the complete monster that went under the guise of ‘Melvin’, Marriott’s destructive drunken alter-ego, the man who would insult German audiences at a time when ‘don’t mention the war’ was the key to an otherwise harmonious European tour. What of the drug-fuelled woman beater, the thief, the man who enjoyed hobnobbing with the infamous East End gangsters? All or Nothing sets out to do what it says on the tin, to tell the full story, warts and all, a story so rich in the ups and the downs of one of the most fascinating, yet self-destructive characters in the story of rock and roll. Steve Marriott was loved by some, hated by others and in some cases, both loved and hated at the same time. Told through the testaments of those close to the singer, including immediate family members, ex-wives, friends, colleagues, fellow musicians, band mates and the heavies that he had the misfortune to become involved with, each linked by a running narrative by the author (in italics), who possibly overdoes it with the frequent reminders of what a certain monetary figure would be in ‘today’s money’, All or Nothing provides us with more than just a glimpse at the true nature of this tragic figure, whose short life matched his short frame and who was plagued by his own demons, which was ultimately matched by his own supreme talent; a fine musician, guitar player, song writer and the owner of one of the most alive and soulful voices in the history of popular music.
Rickie Lee Jones – Last Chance Texaco | Grove Press | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 01.07.21
When Rickie Lee Jones emerged from the shadows in the mid to late 1970s to take her rightful place in the spotlight, bringing to our attention such songs as “Chuck E.’s in Love”, “Easy Money”, “Coolsville” and “The Last Chance Texaco”, little was known of her troubled back story, her formative years of growing up beneath the ‘pink and yellow and blue’ skies of the California desert, her wonderfully colourful vaudevillian grandparents, the various orphanages that were home to her parents, her subsequent dysfunctional family life, through to her various teenage rebellions and family tragedy, all of which would later play an important part in her personal journey into adulthood, with all the usual drug-fueled shenanigans and ongoing alternative hippie lifestyle. In Last Chance Texaco; Chronicles of a Troubadour, the title taken from the song of the same name but also the premise that the singer, songwriter, chanteuse and relentless beret wearer, spent most of her life in ‘cars, vans and buses’, proceeds to pour out her earlier memories with some force, in fact mention of her critically acclaimed eponymous debut LP of 1979 doesn’t get a whiff until chapter eighteen, more than three-quarters of the way through. Within these pages, Jones is candid, honest and almost casual in her descriptions of growing up and her subsequent brushes with fame, her apparent disdain of being compared to the likes of Joni Mitchell, claiming the only similarity to be that the two are female blondes, together with her open proclamation of an almost obsessive love of The Beatles and West Side Story. Along the way, we are also allowed to eavesdrop on a series of intense romances, on/off relationships, one night stands and brief encounters with the likes of Tom Waits, Lowell George and Van Morrison among others.
Bernie Marsden – Where’s My Guitar | 4thestate | Review by Allan Wilkinson | 15.07.21
Often rock memoirs give the impression that This is Spinal Tap is more of a factual documentary than a spoof comedy film and former Whitesnake guitarist Bernie Marsden offers nothing to dispel this notion. Where’s My Guitar? subtitled ‘The Inside Story of British Rock and Roll’ spares us a lot of the mythology associated with the sex, drugs and rock and roll lifestyle, of wrecking hotel rooms, the mafia-like associations with music mogul gangsters, the frequent drug-fuelled orgies and the life expectancy of a mere one score and seven, but instead gives us a glimpse into the life of one of the good ‘uns, a nice bloke with tales from the periphery. Bernie might have resembled Rory Gallagher and shared a love of guitars with the best of them, occasionally rubbing shoulders with such rock and blues icons as BB King, Robert Plant and Elton John, but unlike some of his peers, Bernie always managed to escape the same household name credentials. In these fifteen chapters, the Buckinghamshire-born guitarist tells his story in a simple, easy to follow narrative and is always gracious when talking about the people who he has worked with, often giving thanks to those unsung heroes who offered help along the way. He speaks with reverence to some, such as former Deep purple luminaries and fellow musicians Ian Paice and Jon Lord, though occasionally you get the impression he’d really like to wipe the floor with them. He speaks of his mum and George Harrison in the same sentence and makes no bones about sharing a swimming pool with the two ‘A’ in Abba. It’s a fun read and we get to know a little about some of the rare humility that does actually exist in some corners of the rock and roll world.