Ain't Bad for a Pink (15 page)

Gary Glitter’s band formed in Hamburg after one of the little studio sessions that were going on all over the place. He originally played under the name of Paul Raven. Studios would often phone clubs for musicians to go and join in with recording. I had the chance of being in on the recording of the successful pop single Cinderella-Rockefeller but I’m now glad I wasn’t. Boney M. also used to live in Hamburg.

Hamburg still attracts musicians; a Stoke band: The Climax Blues Band plays there quite often. It is interesting to know that Hamburg continued to be a Mecca for aspiring musicians long after the Beatles left.

Des Parton.
(29)

Once you did Hamburg you were naturally in a network of professional musicians but although Hamburg could be a gateway, you served a harsh, dangerous apprenticeship. You were worked to death – sometimes literally – Des once had a gun pulled on him when he asked to be paid. He was living in a world of gangsters and prostitutes, drugs and low life. Pushers are instantly recognizable – they hover around musicians. The big men are invisible.

Whilst in Germany his band split up for financial reasons so Des returned to the UK and concentrated on writing songs. He would hitch down to London with a cassette of songs and knock on doors. It was Tony Hatch’s door that let him in, partly he feels, because of the Potteries connection. Jackie Trent came from Chesterton, her brother worked there in an administrative role and there were several others who came from the area. Tony Hatch liked his songs.

Tony used to push me, musically. I’d had no formal musical training and I loved receiving musical tuition from him. Tony would play notes on the piano and say, “Can you hear the quarter notes?” “No.” He would play again. “Can you hear the quarter notes?” “No.” He would play the notes again. “Can you hear the quarter notes?” “Yes.” And I could! I had acquired something. With piano notation from one note to another is a jump; with a cello or a violin or a trombone one note slides to another; it slurs between one note and the next. Like a slide guitar.

People ask me how long I was with Tony Hatch. I never really left. We’re still friends – I saw him about eighteen months ago. When I do any writing I always go down to Tony’s office. I’ve been contacted by the BBC: Tony Hatch will soon be seventy.

Des Parton.
(30)

Through knowing Des and frequently visiting London I met various people. One night in The Speakeasy – the club with the swivelling bookcase entrance in High Street – a bloke was admiring my girlfriend in the gritty gloom. Des introduced me to him. It was Tony Hatch. I didn’t mind – people were always staring at Penny. Another time I went down to London to see Des during the period he was working in Leicester Square, fronting the Tony Evans Big Band with Tina Charles. I knocked on the door of Tony Hatch’s office at Marble Arch, the door opened and I said to the man, “I know you, don’t I? You’re Tony Hayes.” Hayes was the manager of Sweet Sensation. “No. I’m Tony Hatch,” was the reply. Close but no cigar, as they say. He was on TV all the time but I’m so hopeless at recognizing people. Tony Hatch is special: a very, very clever musician.

Des wrote songs for the Manchester group Sweet Sensation in the mid Seventies. Sweet Sensation had a British Top Twenty number one hit and a US Top Twenty hit with “Sad Sweet Dreamer” in 1974.
(31)
Before their appearance on
Top of the Pops
, Des brought the group to the shop, where I kitted them out with equipment, on the strength of my friendship with him. “Purely By Coincidence” was also in the UK Top Twenty. Des arranged and co-produced both hits with Tony Hatch. The cover version of Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely?” (1977) was also co-produced with Tony Hatch. There was a problem: after a few days in the studio with the time paid for and passing and the backing tracks done, the lead singer was unable to deliver the precise vocal nuances Des and Tony were looking for. It was suggested that Des should demonstrate what was needed in the song. So he did. Later, Tony Hatch decided that these vocals would stand. It wasn’t what Des intended and he was only paid as a session musician. But Des – David – Parton had a Top Ten hit single with Stevie Wonder’s song, the B side containing one of his own songs. It was in the UK singles charts for nine weeks and reached number four. Stevie Wonder himself never actually released his song as a single.

Sweet Sensation went into obscurity. Marcel, the lead singer was only fifteen years old when he recorded “Sad Sweet Dreamer.” He was always the little spark in the band – the Michael Jackson – a first class singer who could have been a world class performer.

Des Parton.
(32)

Leroy Smith, Sweet Sensation’s keyboard player, whose death was announced in the
Manchester Evening News,
2
^nd
February 2009, was described as one of the first British black pop stars. Terry Christian
(33)
has expressed his annoyance that Sweet Sensation, originally discovered by the talent show
New Faces
, were mismanaged. Instead of exploiting their teenage appeal, the group were playing to middle of the road “chicken in a basket” audiences. Thus they have never been recognized as they deserved in histories of black British music.

During the interview in which I was talking about Des’ career I picked something up randomly from a drawer. It was the necklace – ethnic beads threaded on leather – that Des wore when he appeared on
Top of the Pops
. And as we looked at the necklace, the phone rang. It was Des.

After his success, Des reassembled the original Stoke band as the Cyril Dagworth Players: a band best experienced live, in my opinion. I designed and built a PA system for them and this was the band Des had always dreamed of. The Dagworths appeared at many venues, including London’s famous Marquee and could have made it big but the backing went elsewhere.

We went to one another’s gigs when we could and there was mutual admiration both professionally and socially. We occasionally played together, but not often. Whereas Des wanted to run a professional band and make a living out of pop music, I made a living from my business which also gave me freedom and opportunity to perform my blues music.

The things Des and I have in common are a love of music, a love of drinking and a love of partying – which must include playing music. When someone asked Des how we managed to contact one another musically, he explained, “The periphery of my musical tastes approaches the periphery of his – for example we both admire Spike Jones and His City Slickers.” We also share an interest in walking and the need to escape from our mithered lives into silence or lunacy or a combination of both. We’ve sat in silence for hours; we’ve had the odd two or three day bender; we’ve debated English comedy, poetry, politics, music…On one occasion we found a snuff shop in Longton – just the whole thing was snuff – you’ve no idea the varieties of snuff!

The lunacy of finding a snuff shop!

We bought some. Later on, in a pub in Longton, we were trying it out when the police arrived. Someone thought we were snorting cocaine.

We had many an edgy escapade. Lunch time at the corner bar at the Royal Hotel, Crewe: the place filled up with Irish rugby fans en route to a World Cup game in Scotland, drinking and generally having a beano, but not a problem. In my experience rugby fans, unlike soccer fans, are never a problem. We were laughing and joking with them and it was a good atmosphere. Enter Sledge, a solid nineteen stone black man: bouncer
extraordinaire
, watching and becoming increasingly uneasy about potential mayhem on his patch. I was also keeping an eye on things; he had no need to worry but he came storming over and started to drag one of the fans out of the bar. I interceded. I got hold of Sledge’s arm – not aggressively – and was prepared to take him on. He was over the top in his reaction. “He’s not doing anything wrong,” I said, “let him go.” Well, Sledge did let him go. Sighs of relief all round. “We never actually thought we’d find an Englishman who’d speak up for us,” one of the Irishmen said. When the rugby fans left we found a bag they had forgotten. It contained two bottles of Jameson’s. Fair wages! Well, we couldn’t follow them to Scotland with it, could we?

Des and I have had many an argument for daft reasons – often alcohol fuelled – and Des has stormed off and walked all the way home to Newcastle. It’s just stupidity – a lovers’ tiff. We fell out in America because I didn’t phone Zoe. We’ve been in some ludicrous situations and survived because I can trust his reactions and he mine. When we were on a boat Des fell in the canal, peeing. While the other two blokes discussed the situation I was at the back of the boat looking for him and prepared to jump in. Des was there in his insulated woolly bear suit doing the breast stroke. “It’s all right once you’re in,” he said, cheerfully.

Although we have played music together our friendship was the key issue. Through all the ups and downs, the comings and goings, the changes, the stagnation, the bizarre events, Des has been the constant. He has always regarded me as the musically dominant one even though he’s made more money than me and had greater accolade.

On one of our frequent London trips in the Seventies, Des and I were just walking along when a taxi slowed up. The window was wound down: inside was the Climax Blues Band singing, “Isn’t She Lovely,” to which Des replied, “Couldn’t Get it Right,” each singing the other’s current hit. A nice convergence.

Both Des and I have musical connections with this band, which, like Des, had served the Hamburg apprenticeship. Climax toured in the UK, in Europe and America and released eighteen albums. The original lineup included Colin Cooper who founded the band in the Sixties. He was musically knowledgeable with more of a jazz background than I had but the blues he played was a bit urban and recent to my ear. It wasn’t hard enough – too polished. A bit cabaret for my taste. Derek Holt was the bass player who eventually left the band to run a pub in Stafford. John Coughley, the drummer, occasionally played with the Skunk Band. Climax Blues Band’s excellent guitarist Pete Aycock caused a split when he left the band. There was an interlude at this point during which Colin Cooper kept the name of the band and there was a possibility of me and Colin forming a duo. Nothing came of it; the musical differences were too great and we were temperamentally too alike for it to work. However, during this time I was able to suggest Les Hunt as a guitarist for Colin’s band. So Climax then consisted of Colin Cooper, Les Hunt and George Glover (keyboards) and Crow (drums) from Des’ band for a while.

Des and Colin Cooper used to do this thing where they would put a record on and the other would have to guess the provenance. When Colin heard a recording of me he put it in the Thirties.

I’m unclear about the present line-up of the Climax Blues Band but I think Les and George are still there. They are all good and successful musicians.

Colin Cooper unfortunately died in 2008.

Like the Skunk Band, the Dagworths were on the brink of larger success on a number of occasions. For my band
The Old Grey Whistle Test
had been a possibility, through contacts and friends. But the competition was strong and contacts could never surmount the other complicating factors such as the talented front man going for three-month benders. Des Parton’s band was in a stronger position: backed by Tony Hatch, his recording of “Isn’t She Lovely” stayed in the charts longer than simultaneous hits by Roger Daltrey and others. Yet it never reached number one and this was psychologically important in the world of pop music. I recall that Wimbledon Fortnight had been a factor in some way. In spite of his connection with Tony Hatch, the big money went on another very accomplished band: The Police.

I don’t feel any trace of bitterness about missed opportunities. In between all this celebrity stuff I had to make a living and my practical nature always had the last word. My main pleasure in music is and always has been what I play on my own.

Being able to meet and listen to other musicians and having the chance to perform informally without the anxiety of having to be successful is important in the life of a musician. It’s a good way for new bands to build up confidence and you can also get drunk. I organised jam nights at the Cheshire Cheese at Gresty, The Royal Hotel on Nantwich Road, Crewe, the Leisure Club in Edleston Road, Crewe and The Limelight, Hightown, Crewe. Jam nights have a shelf life then they fold only to reappear with renewed hope somewhere else. The difference between a jam night and an acoustic night is that in jamming the music is allowed to go and flow and musicians often mingle, whereas acoustic nights are arranged round discrete acts in sequence.

The Crewe music scene has always been fairly buoyant. I’m a drummer. I played for eight years in a local cover band: Beam until February 2010 with bassist Neil Beech and lead guitarist Glyn Sutton. We went all over the North West and this gave me the confidence I needed. Glyn Sutton and I also teamed up with singer-songwriter-guitarist Chloe Chadwick in late 2007, playing her original material and some covers. She left us after a twelve month stint together; I was gutted by that. I’m now in a band called The Start formed in October 2009. Neil Beech has a new cover band: Foulplay.

I came originally from Wythenshawe to Crewe in 1986. When I asked about the music scene I was directed to the Leisure Club Jam Night, where I became long-term friends with Plum, who worked in the shop with Pete Johnson. He was absolutely committed to live music and introduced a jam night at The Albion in Mill Street which later became The Office, and that’s where my band Beam was born. The Albion had a long history of live music: Pete Johnson and Pete Whittingham started off there in the Sixties.