Re: farfetched historical research: april/may 63 Record Mirror?
Date: August 3, 2008 20:41
Sorry for delay, wow, if I'd known at the time this stuff would be so appreciated 40 years later I'd have kept my notes. Bottom line first - I can't say for sure which Sunday I went to the Crawdaddy, only that it was definitely NOT the Sunday before the article appeared for reasons (I think) stated earlier. Also, when I went, neither the Beatles nor ALO was there...and I knew Paul M. and Andrew personally at the time, so I'm certain of that. And it was after Barry did his piece for the local paper.
Peter Jones knew GG from way back when GG promoted jazz. GG had been pestering Peter for weeks about the Rollin' Stones, and Peter had in turn been pestering me because I was the R&B "expert"; it was my bag. But I refused to believe any UK group could play R&B...not just because they were white and Brits, but because I'd been hanging around checking them all out for a long time and none of them really cut it (to my youthful and probably over-critical ears: but you know how it is when you're a young purist). Anyway, PJ told me he went to see them and they were good ("How would you know?" I said, "You don't even like R&B"!). Eventually PJ wore me down and I went, and you know the rest. Here's what happened when we got there, me, my girlfriend and Bill, in an excerpt from my (hopefully) forthcoming book:
When we arrived, late, there was a crowd of kids outside the Station Hotel who couldn’t get in – the place was packed full. In time-honoured journalistic style we elbowed our way to the front, flashed various press cards, cameras, demanded to see Giorgio. The noise was already fantastic – Giorgio appeared and just pushed us into the room where the Rollin’ Stones were already playing.
It was one of those Bo Diddley songs with a Bo Diddley beat. I’d never heard anything like it in a live act. I’d never felt anything like it. The place shook, everyone in the audience was wet with sweat, the sound was bouncing off the walls, throbbing, utterly irresistible. It lifted me up and swept me along, song after song.
The personnel in the group were not entirely unfamiliar. I recognised a couple of them from playing on and off with Korner, and the singer I’d seen several times down in Jimmy’s basement café in Soho’s Frith Street. He was known to everyone there simply as “the rhythm & blues singer”. I thought it was a joke till I saw him perform. But the sound they made together was nothing like Korner’s worthy troupe. This was alchemy. It was perfect – rhythm & blues in Chicago couldn’t have been any more exciting than this. I was almost in a state of shock – after the initial rush, my brain switched back on and my first thought was like, we could do it. White people could do it.
Well, that’s how it seemed at the time. Maybe white people never got to do it any better than the Stones did in those early days, which is why the music changed and became rock music, that mulatto child of rhythm & blues that white people actually could do. After the gig, as the crowd melted away, Jill and I just stood there, looking at each other, silent. We knew what we’d heard. Bill had taken some pictures and told us he was going, did we want a lift? We couldn’t bear getting back in his stinky car and anyway Giorgio was glad-handing me, what did I think, what did I want to do, come along with me and the boys we’re going to see so-and-so.
Bill split and Jill and I hung around chatting to Giorgio, being introduced to the Rollin’ Stones one by one as they ambled off-stage. Brian, the most intense character, was the chattiest, doing a PR job on me. What can you do for us? he asked. What could I say? Anything they wanted, really.
Their pianist, Ian Stewart, offered to drive us, so we jumped in the group’s van, and together with a couple of cars made our way to the house of “a producer”. I was still in a haze, a blur, the impressions had overwhelmed me, I was disoriented. There was no indication what kind of producer he was; middle-aged, American, had a big dark pad, there were musical instruments everywhere. I did get the feeling he was a film producer though. All the Stones started picking up the instruments and playing around on them. Drinks were poured, everyone relaxed, unwound, I started chatting to the guys. I was surprised to see Mick, the singer, adept on several of the instruments. He had the hardest job in the band, fronting that incredible sound and holding his own. He was polite, distant, not just from me but from everyone that evening. I spoke mostly with Charlie and Keith, who, like me, was a big Mary Wells fan – we shared our disappointment with “Laughing Boy” but hoped that “Your Old Stand-By” would be return to form (it was). Those were the kinds of conversations everyone had in those days. I arranged to see Brian, who seemed to be the group’s leader and spokesman, up at Record Mirror the following week. Eventually Jill and I left. Ian drove us all the way home to Winchmore Hill, a fair trek from the house of “the producer” which was near Richmond. But it was the small hours of the morning, traffic was light.
Hope that conveys just a little flavour of how fantastic that evening was. I'll try to answer any more questions, and if anyone can work out the time-line please let me know.