The school photograph referred to on P1 was one of two which lay curled together, tight as springs, at the back of various desk drawers for years. I would come across them occasionally while searching for something else and look … Continue reading
It was Derek who told me Johnny was back and working in a transport café. “Wha-a-a-at?” Naturally I was miffed that it was him telling me rather than the other way round, but I was genuinely incredulous. There’d been a … Continue reading
It was understandable that Johnny would search out the old Sun Studio, where Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Charlie Rich had recorded, as well as Presley, but, given his antipathy towards post-Army Elvis, in fact pretty much everything the … Continue reading
Verbatim from Johnny’s letter: Out drinking with Alain after the restaurant had closed, I witnessed what looked like an argument between Chef and a balding man who must have been at least a foot shorter than him. The din in … Continue reading
Fed up with being stared at, or thinking that I was, I stayed in more, playing guitar in my bedroom or listening to music. Smokey Robinson was agonising over ‘Who’s Loving You?’, the tormented flip of the Miracles’ ‘Shop Around’, … Continue reading
Would it have been a hit? Who knows? Note, not “Who cares?” Because the answer to that is I did and, in a way, still do. Nobby likewise, and Derek. Johnny would doubtless say he didn’t care, but I’d take … Continue reading
The death of my mother’s brother had left me with only one uncle, Dad’s younger brother Richard. Uncle Dick lived on his own and seemed to spend all his free time either recording or replaying Goon Shows on a reel-to-reel … Continue reading
Whether Johnny always had me in mind to replace the Blue Pompadours’ sickly lead guitarist, I never knew, because he never said. If it had been a long-term plan, it certainly wasn’t with the encouragement of the group’s other two … Continue reading
I had sandpapered the crudely scripted ‘Sax’s Axe’ from between the frets, covered a crucifix scored into the body with a ‘Ban The Bomb’ sticker, swapped the nylon strings for lightweight wound-steel ones, and worked my way through the Blue … Continue reading
I know I said I would post a chapter a day, but this one’s very short. Blue (Chapter 2) So I practised and practised. I already knew my way around the A, D, E and G chords that empowered me … Continue reading
I asked Barney if I could post a novella I’ve been writing with music at its core, and was grateful when he said yes, because it spurred me on from first to second draft. Although this is the third draft, … Continue reading
I once played football in London with Rod, in Highgate, not far from where he’d been brought up. It was meant to be a friendly match, but I could read the opposition’s thoughts as we lined up for kick-off: “Get … Continue reading
I came across this clip from a BBC radio series I made some years ago about the role of music in crime fiction. It won’t even take three minutes of your time, and I guarantee your day will be the … Continue reading
With three months of 1978, the year in which UK singles sales hit an all-time peak, still to go, perhaps the regular writer was already burned out, although that wouldn’t explain why Melody Maker editor Richard Williams thumbed through sufficient … Continue reading
‘Anyone who doesn’t like rock and roll has something spiritually wrong with him’ (James Lee Burke) I am born on 1 March 1947, which turns out to be the ideal starting point for a life whose course will be signposted … Continue reading
I’m idling along the High Street in my tan sit-up-and-beg Ford Pop, when ‘Whatcha Gonna Do About It’ comes on the radio. Its opening bars are instantly uplifting, as they always will be and as they were a year ago … Continue reading
In 1976 I interviewed Sylvia Robinson at All-Platinum Records’ New York headquarters. I was preparing a documentary for Radio 1 on Women In Rock – which Marianne Faithful would narrate with her leg in plaster from an unexplained fall and … Continue reading
The Who weren’t mods, they were groomed to look that way by Peter Meaden, a pill-popping publicist with so many ideas in his unnaturally active mind that he couldn’t always spot the right one. The mod image was a sound … Continue reading
Thirty-six years ago, I polled contributors to and friends of Let It Rock, the monthly magazine I edited: what, I wanted to know, were their highs and lows of 1973? Voter turn-out was impressive. While I can’t explain the no-show … Continue reading
The first public appearance of what would one day be touted as “the greatest rock and roll band in the world” was hardly headline news, claiming no more than a couple of column inches on an inside page of the … Continue reading
By 1963 everyone I knew had a TV. Two black-and-white channels: the one that was on and “the other side”. So when the Rolling Stones appeared on Thank Your Lucky Stars at teatime on Saturday 7th July, miming to their … Continue reading
Alexis Korner’s Parisian birthplace, Austro-Greek parentage, noble features and languid growl endowed him with an aura of exoticism unreflected in his musical partner Cyril ‘Squirrel’ Davies, a balding, ex-banjo-playing panel beater from Denham with a villainous streak, who could nevertheless … Continue reading
One warm spring Friday night in 1964, cooling off between sets outside the Ricky Tick club in Windsor, I share a match flame with a sharp-suited mod whose jaw works in perfect time with the record wafting from the upstairs … Continue reading
It may well have been his ‘Song Of A Baker’ on the Small Faces’ Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake that first had me believing that Ronnie Lane was wise beyond his years. The opening line caught my attention. “There’s wheat in … Continue reading
It’s Thursday, 6th July 1972. The Guardian lies on the doormat, its front page torn, as usual. I’ve questioned the paperboy. He says the slot’s too narrow, but the flap has a fierce spring, and I reckon he’s frightened of … Continue reading
