Nick Hornby

It’s a year since I launched this blog, and this is my 50th post.

I’ve written about The Beatles, Mott The Hoople, Scott Walker, The Wombles, Driver 67 (of course!), Yewtree’s investigations and Simon Cowell.

And which post got the most readers?

I’d give you 50 guesses and you’d finally get there.

Wonderful thing No 1: Kokomo – they were the subject of my most read post. A band most people have never heard of.

Those who have, though, are passionately devoted. As am I. So it was wonderful to get a rush of attention for writing about artists who have never hit the charts, or sold a million.

And it didn’t happen just the once. When, a few weeks later, I recounted an incident that ended with several of the band in A&E, the numbers peaked again. Maybe I should just start a Kokomo blog!

Wonderful thing No 2: Because I wrote about Kokomo, Nick Hornby read my blog. Say no more.

Wonderful thing No 3: If this blog says anything about me, it’s that I have half a foot in the past, but most of me is in the present. Using computer technology and social media to create and promote my own new songs caught the eye of a book publisher.

He wanted a book which would guide young music hopefuls through the maze of the digital age.

So I was commissioned to write that book. Nearly done. Out by Spring, we hope.

Wonderful thing No 4: In my fifth post, I wrote about being backstage at a Bob Dylan concert in 1978 with my friend Heather.

Completely coincidentally – nothing to do with the blog – she contacted me last week. We hadn’t heard from each other for almost 35 years.

She asked if I remembered her. The usual response is, “Of course I do!” whilst searching your mind for some clue. But I was able to point Heather back to my post last February, and there she was.

We’ve since been reminding each other of escapades we got up to, including leaving the fabled Wembley ELO spaceship gig after just two songs. We weren’t much for the grandiose, Heather and I. Although we did go to a party Barry Manilow threw for Bette Midler. That doesn’t count as grandiose, does it?

Wonderful thing No 5: I was invited to join the Illuminati. Yes! I was!

And what had earned me this privilege? Last September I wrote about the ‘Paul Is Dead‘ conspiracy and talked about the current online obsession with the Illuminati.

I had an offer from illuminati.com to get (notice that: ‘get’) $2,500 every three days, and $1,000,000 ‘membership blessing for doing what you love to do best’.

“Change your life for the better, We holds the world.”

Those mistakes are not mine – that is verbatim how the invitation was put. I don’t care how much money is involved. Where grammar and punctuation are concerned, you can’t buy me.

Wonderful thing No 6: In November last year, I wrote about mental health. It was a slightly nervous post – not the happiest of things to admit to, being bipolar, or to talk about.

But the post attracted attention from outside the music sphere, and ended up in my Top 10 posts of the year. That’s pretty wonderful, don’t you think?

Wonderful thing No 7: One of my (very small) band of Twitter followers, @maxkelp tweeted “You are responsible for the Beta Band. Thank you.”

I was baffled. I had never heard of The Beta Band. I had certainly never imagined a one hit wonder inspiring anyone. So I took his ‘Thank you’ to mean, ‘You git’.

I replied: “Sounds like you don’t think that’s a good thing!”

And he replied: “No, they’re good, but they sound like you.”

So of course, I had to check them out. Seems the main guys would have been at primary school when Car 67 was a hit. So I guess it’s possible that Driver 67 became part of their cultural subconscious.

But I’m not claiming it. They remind me more of The Grease Band or Black Rebel Motorcyle Club, and I suggest if you like your music more on the acoustic and interesting side, The Beta Band is well worth a YouTube visit.

Wonderful thing No 8: Did I mention – Nick Hornby read my blog?

Wonderful thing No 9: I sent a box of 40-year-old tapes off to be digitised and received back a treasure trove of memories. Sessions I’d produced in some amazing studios: Apple, Air, CBS (mostly CBS, to be fair – I did work for the company!), Olympic.

As a result, I wrote my Kokomo post, wrote about South African Tony Bird, and about some completely bonkers sessions I did with crooner Vince Hill. Sadly, I haven’t heard from Vince, but Tony called me from New York and we talked for over an hour.

I have to say again, if the wind had been in the right direction, you would not now be needing me to tell you that Tony Bird is one of the greats.

Wonderful thing No 10: A couple of weeks ago, comedian Tim Vine Tweeted: “Hey who likes Car 67 by Driver 67?”

I love Time Vine (my favourite line: ‘Velcro. What a rip off!’). I like him even better now.

His Tweet resulted in a sequence of tweets mostly consisting of lines from Car 67. Even for an old cynic like me, that was heartwarming.

Wonderful thing No 11: In May last year, I wrote about my friend John Howard, and how the powers that be at Radio 1 deliberately stifled his career in the mid-70s.

I put up a video of John singing My Beautiful Days. It describes a trajectory where today, if you’re attractive enough, being camp is a career move (think Graham Norton, Rufus Wainwright).

But back then, his handlers were trying to make him more ‘butch’. My Beautiful Days is a very affecting song. I’ve seen people reduced to tears by it.

One Very Famous Person emailed me to thank me for introducing him to the song, which he had duly downloaded from iTunes. “What a should-be classic!” is how he put it.

Wonderful thing No 12: The Driver 67 catalogue (all 21 songs!) was reissued (online only) – after 35 years languishing in the vaults – by Cherry Red Records.

This year, I will release the follow up (!) album, called The Return Journey. This old cab still has some fuel in the tank.

I’m going to indulge myself here (it is the blog’s birthday!) and show you a performance by Lisa Hannigan, whose videos kept popping up while I looked for The Beta Band.

Lisa achieved some prominence as part of Damien Rice’s band. But solo, she is a revelation. Not since Joe Cocker have I seen anyone whose movements and facial expressions suggest such total immersion in the music. Except in Lisa’s case, it’s sexy. (Sorry, Joe).

What a great few weeks.

Nick Hornby read my Kokomo blog – yes, the Nick Hornby; I’ve had Tony Bird (last week’s story) on the phone from New York; and Tony O’Malley of Kokomo calling me from a surprisingly genteel part of England.

Kokomo still hold a lot of people in thrall. Nick Hornby, he of High Fidelity, About A Boy and Fever Pitch, apparently wants to know when he’ll be able to buy the tracks I made with the band at Apple in 1974. He’d been a big fan back in the day.

And the buzz about the band’s imminent reunion tour would please any working musician. I will certainly be at one of those gigs ( details here ).

It’s also wonderful to see that, in all the fuss, no-one has forgotten the brilliant Alan Spenner who died of a heart attack 23 years ago at the ridiculously young age of 43.

Rooting through Tony O’Malley’s back pages, I found his blog about a memorable night when the hippie dream crumpled like paper in the hands of a gang of suited and booted young toughs. They came looking for a fight and created mayhem.

Despite appearances, there weren’t that many real hippies back in the day. My neighbours thought I was a hippie. I had the long hair, the beard and the very stupid ‘loons’.

But I also had two children, a mortgage and a job. Proper hippies definitely went in for the children thing – a necessary by product of one of their favourite activities. But the mortgage and the job? No way, man.

So all those people you see when you watch film clips of Woodstock, or the Stones in Hyde Park (I was there, right at the front, in the press enclosure) were mostly people like me. We liked the clothes, and the general philosophy of peace and love. But in reality, we were holding down a fairly normal life.

And then came the night Kokomo played a gig at the Hard Rock Cafe on London’s Old Park Lane. The band was set up in the middle of the restaurant’s front section. And that became the focus of attention for a group of young boys only initially notable for their matching sharp suits and short haircuts.

They drew attention by carrying their drinks from the bar, and straight through the band’s space. At first it seemed just an act of bad manners. But then they did it again, and again, deliberately jostling the musicians.

They were there for a fight. They were a new breed, and they came to kill the hippies. They didn’t have to walk through the band. They chose to in order to get the violence under way. Tony O’Malley’s recollection is that guitarist Neil Hubbard cracked first and pushed back. I most remember Alan Spenner with blood pouring down his face.

Eventually the police were called. Out on the pavement, the heathens even took them on. One I remember vividly picking up a bicycle by the frame and rushing a copper, pedal to the face. They were all adrenaline, totally fearless.

I spent the rest of the night ferrying wounded Kokomos across to St George’s hospital, conveniently just two exits away across the Hyde Park roundabout.

And it had all started out so agreeably. The band was on great form, and I had watched in disbelief as a stunning woman brought herself to orgasm on her partner’s thigh as they grooved along to the rhythm.

Ah, the music life – such contrasts.

Only a few weeks later, I was in a Camden music hangout with Al Stewart and his manager, the exceptional Luke O’Reilly. We were minding our own business. I was intent on persuading Al to stay with CBS for one more album. We were talking intently, confidentially, doing nothing that might draw attention.

But somehow, we offended a group across the room. There were seven of them, and they were in a recently signed band. I think just the sight of Al Stewart being Al Stewart goaded them into a mood of envy.

A couple of them came over to the table, and I rose to greet them, making sure they knew that I knew who they were. But handshakes and civility were not on their minds. They let us know that as soon as we were out of sight of any witnesses, we were going to get a thrashing. No reason. No explanation.

People like me and Al Stewart, we weren’t fighters. We wouldn’t have known where to start. So when we got outside, we raced to our cars and quickly started our engines. Poor Luke O’Reilly was too slow and was pounded to mincemeat. Al ruined his beloved BMW driving over parking posts to get at Luke’s attackers.

I drove off to find police. When I did, they took one look at my hair and my clothes and said, “Yeah, well, probably six of one, half a dozen of the other”. I did an illegal u-turn right in front of them and sped off well over the limit. That got them on my tail. Back at the restaurant, there was Luke lying in the car park, barely conscious and covered in blood. The police still weren’t convinced. “I can name the culprits.” Nah, not interested.

Next day, I phoned the band’s manager and gave him a bit of a talking to about his ‘lads’. He wasn’t phased at all. “Well, if he will go round being all Al Stewart, what do you expect”. I told him to be sure never to come knocking on CBS’s door looking for a deal.

But these two incidents were a bit of a wake up call. Time to toughen up, no question. There were people around who meant us harm. I never rolled over again.

There was an album around at the time, by the American stand-up comedian, Murray Roman. The album was called, You Can’t Beat People Up And Have Them Say ‘I Love You’. It was very funny.

A couple of years back, I wrote a song where I quoted Murray. It’s called What Have You Done (Murray Roman Said) and ostensibly it’s about spousal abuse. But more generally it’s about what a waste of life violence is. The slightly bouncy, rockabilly flavour is deliberately designed to offset what is, essentially, a very dark subject.

The group that threatened to beat up Al Stewart, and put Luke O’Reilly in the hospital? Never heard from again. The guys who picked a fight with Kokomo? Probably Millwall supporters with beer bellies and grandchildren by now. Certainly not known or notable.

Whereas, Kokomo and Al Stewart, and not to forget Tony Bird who sang about racial violence – well, those are lives well lived, enriching others with their talent.

So here’s my hymn to those who prefer violence and abuse over peace and love. What have you done?

DRIVER 67

Twelve Months of Wonderful Things

Al Stewart, Kokomo, and the end of the hippie dream