Monday, 30 November 2015


After months of eager anticipation The Stairs were back on Thursday night for their first gig in over twenty years. It was, without a shadow of doubt, a brilliant night. Nearly 500 people from all over the country squashed into a sold out Kazimier club in Liverpool, a stone’s throw from where Edgar Jones, Ged Lynn and Paul Maguire established The Stairs at the beginning of the 1990s.

Reformations can be dicey affairs with bands returning without original members, their motives questionable, looking a bit old and shit, and removed from their original period can appear out of date and, at worst, even cabaret. Certain bands are defined by their era and sit uncomfortably once extracted but The Stairs were always out of time; harking back to the 60s beat boom when the prevailing musical trends were an assortment of post-baggy, grunge and shoegazing. The Stairs weren’t the only ones going back to mono and recycling British R&B, US garage and Dutch Nederbeat but they were by far the best: more gifted, confident and charismatic than the rest and possessed an off-kilter humour. Who else concluded songs by asking “What do you think of Tarzan undies? Do they scare ya?”  

From the opening seconds of ‘Mary Joanna’ - Ged’s opening riff, Paul’s thumping drums and Edgar’s thunderous bass and exaggerated Jagger howl – it was immediately apparent this was going to be good. When that was followed by ‘Flying Machine’, from their first EP, my excitement built incrementally with each passing song. The last times I saw the band, ’93-’94, they’d progressed into a heavier psychedelic rock band than beat combo, and whilst still excellent hearing sets of unfamiliar, experimental material was a different experience to two years previously. They’d moved on. I vividly recall The Stairs play a Mod Rally at the Isle of Wight in 1993 and the stunned reaction of the assembled Mods who didn’t know what to make of it all. Well, they did, but frankly that was their loss.

From ‘Flying Machine’, a perfect set unravelled, nineteen songs whooshed past. The majority of the classic (and it is that) Mexican R’n’B including ‘My Window Pane’, ‘Mundane Mundae’, ‘Sweet Thing’, ‘Woman Gone and Say Goodbye’, ‘Out In The Country’ all sounded box fresh, as did the double-whammy of ‘Fall Down The Rain’ and ‘Right In The Back Of Your Mind’ which nearly reduced the Kazimier to rubble ahead of its forthcoming demolition by developers. There were some choice EP tracks, ‘When It All Goes Wrong’, ‘You Don’t Love Me’ and ‘Russian Spy and I’; a couple of the later songs in ‘Skin Up’ and ‘Stop Messin’’; the nutjob “new” found-under-bed single ‘Shit Town’ sung by Ged; and even a brand new number ‘1000 Miles Away’ thrown in for good measure. 

Everything was delivered with supercharged power, as if The Stairs had spent twenty years with all this energy suppressed, waiting to explode. The longer they played, the more they locked into each other. If all that wasn’t impressive enough what was bewildering was how the band had remained cryogenically frozen. Edgar looked like he’d walked straight off his record sleeves without a hair out of place and it took me a while to work out he wasn’t wearing the same pink and white paisley shirt from the Bass Clef in ’94 (that had a penny collar, this one pointed…); Ged has kept the same cut-by-himself-in-the-mirror curtains/bob affair and those bug eyes still bulge and his mouth still falls open as he plays guitar; it’s only a few flicks of grey in Paul’s still curly bonce that give any indication we’re now in a different millennium. Like I said, and call me shallow if you will, this stuff is important in bands. Imagine, if you dare, the horror of witnessing a bald Birdland or a fat Five Thirty. They were accompanied on acoustic/electric guitar and organ by Austin Murphy from Edgar’s band The Jones. For what it’s worth, he looked like a young David Hepworth.

There was little chat between songs, certainly no emotional milking of the situation: the music, the audience’s dolally reception, and the smiles of the band said it all. After a pounding ‘Skin Up’ they went off to quickly do that (possibly) before returning for the anthemic  ‘Weed Bus’, given a bizarre cowboy style intro by Edgar about the joys of Liverpool’s public transportation system. With that fantastic finale about knowing you’re in heaven, they were gone.

Apart from missing their old talisman Jason shaking his maracas one more time this gig had it all; any misgivings about spoiling their memory banished. Where The Stairs go from here remains to be seen – and I doubt they’ll want to keep treading old ground for long - but this night, this monumental night, this little piece of history, was nothing short of triumphant and, if anything, elevated their already treasured status for anyone fortunate enough to have witnessed it.

Sunday, 29 November 2015


The Standells

1.  Mark Murphy – “Li’l Darlin’” (1961)
Ace Records this month issued a new comp, Georgie Fame Heard Them Here First, featuring 25 tracks covered by our Georgie. Such was the vast array of tracks to pick from, this, from Murphy’s Rah, didn’t make the cut.

2.  Brian Auger – “Blues Three Four” (1961)
Pre-Hammond Auger, here demonstrating his jazz chops on the piano. It’s the opening track on a new Brian Auger anthology Back To The Beginning. Unfortunately the collection is let down by poor liner notes which don’t supply details of where this track was taken, so I’ve guessed the year. Possibly recorded with Dave Morse? Answers to the usual address.

3.  The Wanderers – “After He Breaks Your Heart” (1963)
Led by Ray Pollard, the Wanderers had already recorded for a decade before they cut this typically clean New York slice of Big City Soul for United Artists. Now included on the superb new Lost Without You: The Best Of Kent Ballads 2 compilation for Kent.

4.  The Pirates – “Cuttin’ Out” (1965)
Tough switchblade slashing rockabilly punk from a Texan combo who left behind a couple of 45s, this being their highlight.

5.  Jimmy Witherspoon – “Man Don’t Cry” (1965)
From Jimmy’s swinging Spoon In London which attempted to place him in a slightly more pop-soul setting. That said, “Man Don’t Cry” is a haunting, big voiced, big band creeper.

6.  David Bowie – “Let Me Sleep Beside You” (1967)
Recorded on 1 September 1967 for Deram, “Let Me Sleep Beside You” was the first Bowie single produced by Tony Visconti who sat a neat bass and drum rhythm on top of a sweep of strings. I'm generally indifferent to Bowie but like this. 

7.  The Standells – “Looking At Tomorrow” (1967)
The Standells production team went to town on this, creating a clanging echo drenched protest number with composer Larry Tamblyn taking lead vocals and putting his organ high in the mix. That’s not a euphemism.

8.  Miles Davis - "Bitches Brew" (1970)
On any given day the same piece of music (and I'm primarily talking jazz here) can either enthral or infuriate. Depending on one's mood, 27 minutes of this one track could easily do either.

9.  Hollywood Brats – “Sick On You” (1973)
After my effusive praise for Andrew Matheson’s recent memoir, Sick On You, it was little surprise to see Mojo magazine crown it Book of the Year. The song of the same name should’ve similarly won accolades in the year of its completion.    

10.  The Stairs – “Flying Machine” (1991)
From side two of their first EP and the second song played at Thursday’s reunion gig in Liverpool, setting the tone for what was a triumphant return, exceeding all expectations. More about this later.

Sunday, 22 November 2015


It’s 1971 and Andrew Matheson, 18, leaves his job in the mines, armed with a tatty suitcase, five LPs (Kinks, Shadows of Knight, Beatles and two Stones), a black Vox Mark VI teardrop guitar and moves to London with a head full of ideas and a template to create the perfect rock ‘n’ roll band stuffed in his pocket.

Cut to 1975 and that band, the Hollywood Brats, have disintegrated, their solitary album, Grown Up Wrong, sneaking out, belatedly, in, of all places, Norway, selling a meagre 563 copies. It was an inglorious conclusion to a band that should’ve been – and actually were, for the blink of eye – contenders.

What happened in between is told with style and panache in Sick On You. Matheson’s creation, the Brats, a mess of eyeliner and spray paint, strutted and preened their way around London without a penny to their name but as that lost album, especially the searing, slash and burn ‘Chez Maximes’ (“We don’t care what you say…”) and the magnificent proto-punk single-that-never-was ‘Sick On You’ testify, they had, way before the class of ’76, the razor sharp, adrenaline fuelled tunes to back their ballsy attitude and they got to the Phil Spector girl group songbook before the Ramones; The Crystals' 'Then He Kissed Me' provocatively left without switching gender. 

Glamourous boys in women’s clothing sashaying around pubs and clubs, indulging in petty crime, in dank early 70s Britain didn’t endear them to many – a kicking was seldom far away - but Matheson’s mouthy prose sparkles on every page, glitter sprinkled on the grime. One line in particular encapsulates life as a Hollywood Brat, “Have you ever tried running for your life in a top hat and clogs?”

Whether you’ve heard of his band or not, and the chances are not, Andrew Matheson has written the best music memoir I’ve ever read, it’s brilliantly told with an array of funny cameos from individuals as diverse as Keith Moon, Freddie Mercury, Malcolm McLaren, Cliff Richard and the Krays. He talks it the way he surely walked it, reducing the opposition to the role of boring dullards. Despite being tantalisingly close to the edge of success – recording at Olympic studios, photos by Gered Mankowitz, limos to film premieres - The Hollywood Brats never “made it” but from the evidence now available they should at least be held in the same esteem as the New York Dolls, who hit on the same idea almost simultaneously Stateside. And in Andrew Matheson it’s impossible not to rue the fact rock ‘n’ roll missed out on potentially one of its greatest, gobbiest frontmen.

Sick On You by Andrew Matheson is published by Ebury Press, out now. 
The Hollywood Brats (photo by Gered Mankowitz)

Friday, 20 November 2015


I raved about Daniel Romano’s Come Cry With Me back in 2013, making it my album of the year (for whatever that’s worth), and his latest LP If I’ve Only One Time Askin’ is another stone-cold country classic following the lineage from Hank Williams, Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and Gram Parsons.

The man’s a story telling genius, totally out-of-time, this is stuff from a bygone era, but a genius nonetheless. I love his rubbery vocals which bend and stretch and then go slack and deep and pull on the heartstrings. Canadian Romano can do one man, a guitar and a bar stool and, as you’ll hear on this surprising new video to the album’s opening track, animated by Chad VanGaalen, he can stand up front backed by huge sweeping orchestration.

The vinyl edition of If I’ve Only One Time Askin’, released by New West Records, is housed in a beautifully authentic thick card sleeve. Out now.
And here's a stripped back version of "The One That Got Away (Came Back Today)" from the same album.

Wednesday, 18 November 2015


The latest issue of Subbaculture doesn’t need much of a pitch from me as unless your little fingers move fast all 200 numbered copies will already have homes, and rightly so.

Intelligently written articles on various facets of “street style” housed in a smartly designed A5 ‘zine with Jesse Hector’s feathercut and Hammersmith Gorilla sideburns adorning the front cover. Subbaculture is the hippest zine around and this its best issue so far.

Details, heaps of fascinating photos and more can be found at the Subbaculture site. Look sharp. Always. 

Monday, 16 November 2015


There are no flies on Monkey Picks’ jazz correspondent, Monkey Snr, who following yesterday’s review of Suede's Night Thoughts première spotted a striking similarity between their new album’s artwork and that of Undercurrent, a 1962 release on Blue Note by pianist Bill Evans and guitarist Jim Hall.

The original photograph, entitled Weeki Wachee Spring, Florida was taken by Tom Frissell in 1947. The Suede image is from Roger Sargent's new Night Thoughts film.  

Sunday, 15 November 2015


Suede unveiled their forthcoming album, Night Thoughts, on Friday with a global première at the Roundhouse in Camden. From behind a giant screen they played it live in its entirety as Roger Sargent’s accompanying film provided a loose visual representation.

As one song bled seamlessly in to the next, the film changed scenes: a haunted man walking out into the sea; lovers embracing; kids in hoodies on housing estates; people taking drugs; overdosing; having sex; loving; fighting; brandishing guns; screaming; being desperate and alone. You know, all the usual Suede themes. There were cars so there would’ve been fumes too. To be honest I found it a bit distracting and would’ve preferred to simply see the band play, although a whole album of unheard material isn’t the most entertaining thing in the world. It reminded me of when The Style Council played their Jerusalem film at the Royal Albert Hall gigs and my mates headed to the bar grumbling loudly about “pretentious bollocks”. Suede fans however are far more tolerant of such grandiose artistic gestures.

The album itself sounded big and bold and dramatic. From only one hearing I’m not going to make any final assessment but I’d venture it’s a step up from the previous Bloodsports, and that was good. After the final track they disappeared (not that they could be seen very clearly beforehand) and had their half time orange before returning in the second half for what they promised would be a “Hits and Treats” set.

I don’t know what Suede did during their lost years to come back such a phenomenal live act but that’s what they are. The best there is. I saw them a dozen times when they first started, those early gigs at the South Africa Centre, the Rough Trade shop, the 100 Club, even suffering the ignominy of supporting such doggerel as Kingmaker and they weren’t like anybody else then but the flouncing, foppish, arse slapping Brett Anderson has been transformed.

Brett Anderson is a beast. A beautiful beast. A beautiful, lean, mean, fighting machine, rock star beast. Fitter than an army of fleas in a scuzzy mattress, Brett bounces up and down, leaps off monitors, shouts and does the “come on then, let’s have it” fingers, shakes his head, lassoes his microphone lead a la Daltrey and works the band and crowd into a frenzy. He is magnificent in this role, pulling out all the stops, and Suede have the knockout material to back all his showboating. Big hit singles, album tracks, obscure B-sides ('Darkest Days' had previously passed me, thanks for drawing it to my attention), all relentless in their majestic swagger. Even “The Living Dead”, a delicate lament, is transformed into a joyous lullaby with Anderson leaving much of singing to the audience. “Where’s all the money gone? I’m talking to you, all up the hole in your arm” they chant like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. A clean Brett grins like a cat with a never ending supply of cream.

They departed for a phony encore with Anderson telling the crowd to wait a minute. They do, naturally, and after beginning the evening with their newest recordings they end with their oldest, all three tracks from their 1992 debut single: ‘The Drowners’, ‘My Insatiable One’ and ‘To The Birds’. Incredible. Where do the years go? ‘To The Birds’ my absolute favourite Suede song – and I have many – what a treat. What a band.

Set 1: When You Are Young, Outsiders, No Tomorrow, Pale Show, I Don’t Know How To Reach You, What I’m Trying To Tell You, Tightrope, Learning To Be, Like Kids, I Can’t Give Her What She Wants When You Were Young, The Fur & The Feathers

Set 2: Moving, Killing Of A Flash Boy, Trash, Animal Nitrate, We Are The Pigs, Heroine, Pantomime Horse, The Living Dead, Darkest Days, New Generation, So Young, Metal Mickey, Beautiful Ones, The Drowners, My Insatiable One, To The Birds

Night Thoughts is released 22 January 2016.

Saturday, 14 November 2015


Those kind folk at Fusion On Air are handing over the reigns again tomorrow for another edition of Monkey's Wandering Wireless Show.

For an hour I'll be treating the listener (or listeners, hopefully) to a load of brilliant music, obviously, and interrupting only occasionally with words of few syllables. Simple concept really, you don't want to miss it. Set the alarm on your phone or something for 8.30pm Sunday and then hit the link below. 

Those who log in to Fusion can congratulate/abuse me on my taste in the chatbox thingy during the show, or don't bother with that and just sit back with a beer or three and enjoy. 

UPDATE: If you missed this it's now available on the Fusion Showreel.

Thursday, 12 November 2015


The Stairs, Isle of Wight, August 1993: Ged Lynn, Paul Maguire, Edgar Jones
The Stairs are back. On 26 November, over twenty years since their last performance, Edgar Jones (then Summertyme), Ged Lynn and Paul Maguire play a hometown reunion gig at the Kazimier in Liverpool. For a brief moment in the early 90s it appeared their big boss beat might crossover into the mainstream and whilst debut single ‘Weed Bus’ became something of a classic and their LP Mexican R’n’B sounds as good today as it did then, they fizzled out of the public eye after label Go Discs short-sightedly released them.

In early 1994 I interviewed Edgar for issue three of my fanzine, Something Has Hit Me, and it caught them at an experimental and ambitious time, excited by the possibilities of where their music could take them and what they could achieve. Unfortunately, they didn’t release another record during their lifetime and folded not long after. A second album Who Is This Is, which featured much of the material Edgar mentioned and was part of their live set at that time, quietly sneaked out on Viper many years after their demise. The same label this month releases a new odds and sods compilation, The Great Lemonade Machine In The Sky, including demos, live songs and alternative versions. Also, a limited edition 45, the Beefheartesque bonkers 'Shit Town' is pulled from the album. 

With drummer Paul now based in Iceland don’t expect The Stairs to return full time so any chance you get to see them, grab it. In the meantime, let’s go back to ’94, that fanzine article and enjoy a few previously unseen photos…

Something Has Hit Me: In 1991/1992, The Stairs released four great EPs and an outstanding LP, Mexican R’n’B. Everything they did was geared to being as authentically 60s sounding as possible, right down to having Go Discs release their records in mono only. Their sound was an accurate blend of Pretty Things, Chocolate Watchband and early Stones, anything modern was frowned upon Hand in hand with this was their well-documented love and use of dope, with two of their singles, ‘Weed Bus’ and ‘Mary Joanna’, being less than subtle in sentiment. Even their t-shirts bore the legend “Superstars of Smoking”.

The last eighteen or so months have seen an almost complete silence from the band, only popping up occasionally for the odd low key gig. Now in 1994, they’ve started to gig more regularly again. Something Has Hit Me talked to singer and chief songwriter, Edgar Summertyme.

You did a live session for GLR (Greater London Radio) this morning. How was it?
It was sound. Boss like. A good buzz getting up early in the morning and going down and playing. It was a good room to play in, as it was the first time I’ve heard everyone in the band properly for ages. We did two new songs that went out live, ‘Skin Up For Me Baby’ and ‘It Was Alright’. We’re trying out a few different bags at the moment. Like the way we’re playing and getting into different things. One of those songs is quite heavy and the other is more Tamla. We’re just trying to see what fits best, cos since we’ve left Go Discs we’ve become a different band really.

So you’ve left Go Discs then? Is that why you’ve been so quiet?
Yeah, that’s right. The fella that signed us left the company and then we had a big patch with no money coming in and that.

Have you gone anywhere and signed with someone else?
We’re not gone anywhere, we’ve looking at the moment. Tonight’s our first sort of showcase (at the Bass Clef in Hoxton). We’ve still got the publishing deal with Warner Chappell though, that’s important. They even had ‘Russian Spy and I’. They actually own that song but had to phone Holland and go through all their old records to check they owned it.

I thought the promotion you got from Go Discs was quite good.
Yeah it was quite reasonable like. They put us about a bit and all that. But the head man there now just isn’t into our bag. He’s just into pop records. We were getting harder and heavier and generally better and better at playing, but he isn’t a man that listens to the rhythm section or a record, he just listens for the twee lead singer. He likes twee lead singers and I could never sing like that.

You said about getting into different things, I saw you’re at the Isle of Wight last August (1993) and your sound was quite different, heavier in places and it seemed some was improvised.
Yeah, it was the San Franciscan thing really, that we got into. We’re trying to take that sound and modernize it. The thing is today, there’s a lot of good bands around but they’re not playing with real good taste. But I think that you can do something with modern music and make it tasty. I mean, there’s the occasional moments of Lenny Kravitz that are alright, you know what I mean, but he hasn’t the je ne sais quoi to quite pull it off. People will just have to wait for us. We just want to see a British band that’s as good as say the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and things like that. They’re quite good but they’ve got such a shit singer.

So it’s not just a case of recreating that 60s sounds anymore?
No, we want to take it further now. Because as musicians we’d just die, we’d be cabaret and that’s not a good place to be. I’ve got all the respect in the world for bands like The Aardvarks and that, who are carrying on doing that, bit I just don’t think it’s for us to carry on in that vein forever. Although, having said that, I’m looking back a bit further as well as looking forward. Listening to Sun Ra, Ornette Coleman, there’s more of that to be learnt. Captain Beefheart-isms. There’s a lot of ways to go. You don’t have to be Led Zep to take your music into the future. Things like Little Richard. There’s a lot to Little Richard than you realise because of all those 70s bands doing versions of his songs. But if you listen they sound like a lot of those early Stax records from the late 50s, if you listen closely.

Do you listen to a lot of soul music?
Yeah, you can learn a lot from that. The way the bands played together. The way they make room for someone to do something. I’ve learnt so much from that. I’ve always liked Motown and stuff but recently I’ve been playing Willie Mitchell, Garland Green, Jimmy McGriff and early James Brown instrumentals, things like that.

Have you recorded any new material?
We’re recorded a few demos and that but we’re looking to record some more when we get the money. We’ve got so much material to get through. We’re about a year behind my writing now, so we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

Will those songs just get left behind?
Yeah a lot of it will but songs go through rebirths. Sometime they go through very big changes. If I decide I don’t like the arrangement or something I’ll do a “tribute” arrangement. Like on ‘No One Knows’, I hated the arrangement so we did a bit of an Easybeats tribute, 1966 style. So, you’ve always got all that to choose from. Having said what I did earlier, we’ll always bring up things from the past, but we’ll try to present them with the modern person in mind, because we want to reach as vast an audience as possible. If anything, we’d like to teach them and then give them weirdness. Get ‘em into that. Plus it would be good for the other bands as well because no one is reaching across that barrier at the moment. We want to break down that barrier.

You recorded an album of cover versions that didn’t come out, how come?
The label, Imaginary, folded. So we were unable to release it. One of the tracks that might have ended up on it was featured on a compilation. We did ‘Moonchild’ by Beefheart. It was a pretty spot on copy. It’s on 1965 Through The Looking Glass but I haven’t got a copy of it myself yet.

What about putting something out yourself?
Yeah, we’re thinking of doing a single ourselves. We’re trying out a few new ways of recording. I can’t really go into it cos someone might rob the idea but basically it’s a way of getting a modern sound that sounds like an old sound that sounds like a modern sound. Also, there’s a lot more range to this band that you don’t know about. Left Banke kinda stuff that you’ll never hear live, but they will eventually come out on albums. I love that big production stuff.

Brian Wilson?
Yeah, I was a big Smile freak for about two years. When I was 19-20 I wrote a load of soft songs. We can’t play any of them live. We were going to do an album under a different name and call it Wet Sounds but had to abandon the idea cos Go Discs weren’t into us going under a different name. We loved those songs, all nice lightweight 1966 pop songs. I was great to write those.

(There was a load of general chat here about bands having loads of great unreleased material and conversation turned back to the Easybeats).
I met George Young of the Easybeats a couple of years ago because we wanted him to produce us. But he came to tell me he didn’t produce anymore. He sat me down and gave me a two hour talk on how to look after myself in the music business, which was amazing. Because basically he’d fucked up badly. There was unreleased material of theirs left, right and centre. Albums cancelled and stuff. He just told me how to compose myself and to smoke a lot less of that stuff. Cos he used to be on it all the time and now he’s the most together man in the world. He’s just into looking after his family, which is really nice. He just told me to never forget my family.

So there you have it. A definite mellowing in The Stairs camp. Don’t worry about talk about getting modern sounding, as having heard some of the new songs live a few times I can tell you there are some real crackers there. ‘It Was Alright’ is as good a track as they’ve done previously and would have easily on Mexican R’n’B. As for some of their more experimental stuff, well, it’s simply brilliant. It may take some time before any of it sees a proper release, so make sure you go and see them live, they’ll knock yer socks off! 
The Stairs at the Bass Clef, Hoxton, 1994
Something Has Hit Me, Issue 3, April 1994

Sunday, 8 November 2015


This is a rehash of a previous post but as Desmond McCarthy and Johnny Byrne's BBC Wednesday Play, Season Of The Witch, first broadcast 7 January 1970, is available (for now) on YouTube it's worth flagging up again.

Made in the summer of ’69, Season of the Witch stars Julie Driscoll in her debut acting performance as Mel, who runs away from London, her parents, and her job and heads to Brighton. There she meets various “beats” (interestingly there are plenty of references to beats and beatniks – no one is a freak or hippie) and they mooch about doing very little.

Mel takes tips on scavenging for food (get a skinny dog and plead with the butcher for meat) and sleeps on the beach before hitch hiking to Cornwall, traipsing back to London for a demo, getting arrested, and hanging out with drifters Jake (Paul Nicholas) and Shaun (Robert Powell). 

With plentiful location shots, unscripted segments of dialogue, a few state-of-kids-today moments mixed with real-life interviews and footage (greasy bespectacled longhairs arguing half cocked political idealism and watching drug education films at a youth drop-in centre, filmed in a Ken Loach docudrama style), Season of the Witch is as much sympathetic coming of age documentary as it is "Beat Girl On The Road". As such, it’s aged well, it attitude at least. Da yoof may not say “scenes” and “pads” anymore but the spirit and searching for a sense of belonging can’t be much different.

Julie Driscoll is a far better singer than actress - and isn't helped by having to deliver some clumsy dialogue - she's good to watch. The best line comes from Mel’s Dad (Glynn Edwards), who in a long rant about drugs, coffee shops, long-haired layabouts and the state of young people wanting to look conspicuous says “I saw one of ‘em the other day wearing a cowboy hat. In ‘arrow. There ain’t any cowboys in ‘arrow”. Director Desmond McCarthy has since explained all the lines in that monologue were taken from a real Panorama documentary. He's also confirmed the sign in a B&B window of “We reserve the right to refuse beatniks and other undesirables” was also genuine. 

A soundtrack by Brian Auger and the Trinity and a bit of Blind Faith in Hyde Park adds to the enjoyable. And despite the title it's mercifully Donovan-free.

Sunday, 1 November 2015


In the late 1950s, with Ronnie Scott, Londoner Tubby Hayes led the Jazz Couriers, exciting new British proponents of modern jazz who made their debut at the opening of the Flamingo Club; in the early 60s he was a household name, a regular on television, had his own series, made numerous film appearances, and was untouchable in the music press annual jazz polls. By 1973, drink and drugs and a dodgy ticker had seen him off, dead at the age of 38.

Mark Baxter and Lee Cogswell’s new hour-long film, A Man In A Hurry, tells the story of the short life a man who “burned the candle at both ends… then started on the middle”. More than that, the documentary seeks to place Hayes alongside the greats of jazz – Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis and company.

Edward Brian “Tubby” Hayes was prodigiously talented, receiving his first tenor sax at 12 years old, he formed his first band at 14 and was a professional jazz musician at 15; his headmaster making an exception to the school’s dress code by allowing him to wear a “Boston haircut”, something of a requirement to conduct his night time trade. He mastered the tenor, flute (allegedly playing it at gigs days after first picking it up) and vibraphone and took his talent to America to prove his worth amongst the “big boys”.

British jazz then, as now, was often derided as the parochial poor relation to the America version. To quote Benny Green’s liner notes from the 1961 Tubbs, “Its only conceivable handicap from a sales point of view that I can think of is the fact it was recorded within hailing distance of Marble Arch”. Such a snobbish attitude did a disservice to Hayes who, we hear, was at least anyone’s equal, irrespective of nationality or location. 

Martin Freeman provides the narration and contributing talking heads describe Tubby’s life in a simple yet snappy and engaging way, intercut with snippets of music and archive footage. The film is made in such a way, and Tubby's life was interesting enough, that even if one doesn't care much for jazz, it's an engrossing story. The most enlightening contributions come from Hayes biographer and saxophonist Simon Spillett and people (including his son) who knew and witnessed Tubby in action. Poet Michael Horowitz speaks, as one would expect, with wonderful eruditeness.

DJ Patrick Forge recounts how he first heard Tubby on the Jazz Club series of LPs in the mid-80s, on the track “A Pint Of Bitter”, and how the title reinforced, in his mind, the unfortunate perception of British jazz being the preserve of middle-aged men with beards dressed in corduroy drinking real ale out of pint jugs (hang on a mo, that’s me now, shit, what happened?) rather than the sharp dressed hipsters depicted on Blue Note sleeves. “A Pint Of Bitter” by Tubby Hayes; just doesn’t sound cool does it? Perhaps to counter this, broadcaster Robert Elms and Acid Jazz’s Eddie Piller attempt to place Hayes in a “Mod” context. I’m not entirely convinced this section was necessary - is it not enough for Tubby to be the greatest jazz musician this country has produced but has to be a founding Modfather as well? – but knowing the Mod background of the film makers and many contributors it’s understandable.

I’ve bought a few Tubby Hayes LPs over the years (and have had a lifetime of Monkey Snr speaking of him with deep reverence) but two viewings of A Man In Hurry has given me a greater appreciation of the man and a determination to hear more of his music. What more could one ask of a film? 

For more info see Tubby Hayes: A Man In A Hurry.