IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR: THE LIFE & SOUL OF WILSON PICKETT by TONY FLETCHER (2017)

Wilson Pickett was one the biggest soul stars of the 60s yet is often overlooked and taken for granted. I’ve a bunch of his singles, from early sides on Double L (‘Baby Call On Me’) and Verve (‘Let Me Be Your Boy’) to the humongous hits for Atlantic (you know the ones) but rarely pay him much mind. There’s probably an element of unconscious soul snobbery at work here; Wilson wasn’t an obscure and underappreciated talent and he didn’t die with early promise unfulfilled; instead, he worked his way up, hit it big then floundered through the decades with decreasing artistic reward. Pickett also inadvertently provided fodder for karaoke nights and wedding bands everywhere and while ‘Land of 1000 Dances’ still packs an almighty punch I never want to hear ‘Mustang Sally’ again.

Tony Fletcher’s new biography, In The Midnight Hour, succeeds in turning the spotlight back to Wilson Pickett y’all. Although the first Pickett biography his story reads a familiar one as with unerring predictability his life plays out as the archetypal 60s soul star. If reads like a work of unoriginal fiction and a cliché, it was Pickett, more than most, who established it as he walked toe-to-toe with the progression of black American music during a sizable chunk of the second half of the 20^th century.

From growing up poor in Prattville, Alabama, to Pickett’s father moving to work in the motor trade in Detroit, to young Wilson singing gospel, joining the more R&B-focussed Falcons in Detroit, recording in New York, sessions at Stax in Memphis and Muscle Shoals back in Alabama, huge success with the trappings that bought, to helping switch attention to the soul of Philadelphia, to performing in Africa, Pickett carried the flame. Then came the downward spiral. Pickett struggled to find a place in the music business when soul shifted from hitting hard in the guts and deep in the heart to the disco era, skittering across emotions and dancefloors.

As Pickett’s star waned his descent into drink, drugs and increased violence escalated alarmingly and stays in prison beckoned. “It’s very difficult to get somebody who’s been to the top of mountain to accept that they’ve living on the hillside,” offers Jon Tiven who attempted to help get Pickett back on track in the 90s. 

As always with Tony Fletcher, he put the miles in to interview as many associates as possible to compile a thorough account of his subject. There are plenty of anecdotes telling of Pickett’s greatness: his dynamic stage presence, the way he commanded the studio, his artistry, charisma and humour. And, of course, that voice and that scream. Jerry Wexler said James Brown screamed but Wilson Pickett screamed in tune.

On the other side of the coin was The Wicked Pickett, a nickname earned from pinching the mini-skirted behinds of secretaries in the Atlantic Records offices. If we recoil at such practices nowadays it was small fry compared to what was to come. Fletcher asserts “for most southern blacks of the era, harsh physical discipline was accepted as a rite of passage” and harsh physical discipline was something Pickett took from his childhood and delivered in adult life. It makes grim reading and when added to beating women and his children, pulling a gun on his brother, serving up a saucer of cocaine to his 14-year-old son and a bunch of other assholery it’s hard not to feel when his bass player rips a towel rail off a wall to smash Pickett in the head, breaking the bone behind his left eye, that he didn’t have it coming. If this was a movie a little cheer may've gone up in the cinema.

If such passages make uncomfortable reading, Fletcher’s analysis and descriptions of Pickett’s music are enthralling and redress the balance. Such is Fletcher’s enthusiasm he does what any good music biographer should, and sends the reader back to the records. For my part I bought the first five Wilson Pickett albums (check out the Original Album Series, five CDs for little more than a tenner) and have listened with fresh, excited ears. I like him more now and although still not the biggest fan of that sock-it-to-me chuggy-chugging brand of soul, gems aplenty have surfaced. ‘Jealous Love’ and ‘I’ve Come A Long Way’ alone from 1967’s excellent I’m In Love are new favourites and have, at last, given me a fuller and fairer assessment of the Wicked (sometimes very wicked) Pickett. Oh yeah, he also turned 'Hey Jude' into a decent record so he definitely wasn't all bad.

In The Midnight Hour: The Life and Soul of Wilson Pickett by Tony Fletcher is out now, published by Oxford University Press.

BOY ABOUT TOWN by TONY FLETCHER (2013)

Tony Fletcher is the author of numerous books including the definitive Keith Moon biography Dear Boy and an exhaustive account of The Smiths, A Light That Never Goes Out. In the 1980s he wrote for The Face, was a presenter on Channel 4’s The Tube and his Jamming! magazine sat on the shelves of WH Smiths (described to me the other day as Smash Hits’ cool older brother).  

Yet for many Fletcher is synonymous, even now, with the late 70s fanzine culture that saw the likes of Sniffin’ Glue, Maximum Speed and his own Jamming! give a platform for enthusiastic young kids to write about their music.

Boy About Town is Fletcher’s memoir of that period and whilst his coming of age story is fairly unremarkable in regard to friendships, football matches, school trips, being bullied, forming a band, dabbling with drugs, milking the lizard and a desperate need to lose his cherry, his activities and associations which stemmed from producing his own fanzine are anything but ordinary.

Inspired by Jon Savage’s fanzine article in Sounds in 1977, thirteen year old Fletcher was soon knocking out his own (fanzine, that is) and within a year and six issues it was fast on its way to becoming one of the most celebrated of the era, boasting interviews with upcoming Adam and the Ants, Scritti Politti and Alternative TV next to big names The Jam and, incredibly, Pete Townshend. Soon after, as told in the book, there are memorable encounters with The Damned, The Fall, The Undertones and many others as Fletcher immersed himself the DIY post-punk and, for a brief time, mod scenes.

A central presence in the book is The Jam and particularly Paul Weller. Of course The Jam were well known for their accessibility: allowing fans to watch their sound checks; letting them in the studio; and removing as many barriers between band and fan as possible. Therefore it’s not surprising Weller was more than happy to give an interview to a thirteen young old but what is striking is how Weller didn’t leave it there but followed it up with invites to gigs, supportive letters and an open invitation to drop by the studio whenever they were recording; not once does he come across as patronising or anything but genuinely supportive of Tony’s endeavours. Fletcher doesn’t say it but it’s hard not to think Weller didn’t see something of himself in his young fan’s quiet ambition, determination and entrepreneurial flair. Boy About Town is recommended for plentiful Jam anecdotes and insights alone, including a few details worthy of quiz questions.

How much The Jam were the people’s band (and the band for the most discerning school kids) is best illustrated by the Tony’s discovery “Going Underground” had gone straight in at number one as he was out of school one Tuesday lunchtime. He rushes back to tell his classmates the news before afternoon registration. “A massive roar went up. We found ourselves jumping up and down together, like we all supported the same football team and they’d just won the Cup”.  It’s my favourite moment in the book but a bittersweet memory “And with that, it sank in. They were no longer our band.”

Fletcher was also a big fan of The Who, discovering them via the Quadrophenia and Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy LPs and going to see their massive gig (on his own, aged 12) at Charlton. His brief encounter with Keith Moon later is very sweet and shows a lovely side to Keith, so much so that when Moonie dies Fletcher promised himself that one day he will “put the record straight”. Most of the book is written from the viewpoint his teenage self (the only excuse for using terms “modette” and “punkette”) but on occasion elements of a grown up perceptive creep in. I can’t quite believe all the observations took place whilst growing up, even for an observer as astute as Fletcher.

And it’s as an observer where Fletcher shines. Although he witnessed (or not witnessed, as he missed the infamous Bill Grundy appearance) punk hit its peak and then again as the mod revival briefly took hold, Tony never threw his lot in with any cult or fad. Only last week I saw Jamming! referred to as mod fanzine, something it definitely wasn’t although it was supportive of some of the bands (notably Southend’s Speedball who feature heavily) and he did see it develop from queues of young mods outside The Who’s Rainbow gig in ’78 to gigs at The Wellington pub in Waterloo and burn out at a rapidly once it appeared on Janet Street Porter’s London Weekend Show.

Fletcher had a healthy scepticism about the mod revival and was furious at being labelled a mod but it’s interesting to read his more dispassionate account of it from the view of an onlooker. Secret Affair in particular are accused cynically manoeuvring themselves at the vanguard of the movement and denying their recent past. “Even if looking good was the answer, looking backwards most certainly was not.”

Looking over one’s shoulder was a good idea back in the late 70s, as violent skinheads (the right-wing moron kind) were omnipresent at gigs. It’s hard to imagine fights at gigs these days but back then it was difficult to imagine going to a gig without that thought becoming a reality. I’ve mainly focused above on the mod element but Boy About Town is about much more than that. Fletcher paints a vivid picture of the time – both through the eyes of a boy dealing with growing up and into the underground music scene of bands, fanzines, small record labels, and a staunchly independent spirit.

The book ends with Tony taking his O Levels and receiving an amazing proposition from Paul Weller. It’s a great read and one which potentially invites the difficult second album syndrome.   

Boy About Town by Tony Fletcher is published by William Heinemann, out now. 

For more info check Tony's ijamming.net

PUT THE BOOK BACK ON THE SHELF: BOHEMIANS, BEATNIKS AND AN ED BANGER

Time to rest the ears and treat the eyes.

If I were in the process of writing my first novel I’d put my quill and ink back in the desk drawer, close the lid slowly, put the kettle on, and think of another way to make my mark after reading The Panopticon by Jenni Fagan. I’d already read Jenni’s poetry in Blackheath publications The Dead Queen of Bohemia and Urchin Belle so knew what to expect theme wise but the writing in The Panopticon is truly exceptional: economical, sharp and knowing.

Anais Hendricks is 15, her adoptive prostitute mum has been murdered, and has been sent into care at the Panopticon - ”a circular prison with cells so constructed the prisoners can be observed at all times” - after being accused of her latest misdemeanour (namely landing a policewoman in coma). Given time to dig beneath all the violence, drugs, sex, and teenage bolshiness – both administered and received – Anais is revealed as a savvy, intelligent young woman with dreams of living a quiet bohemian Parisian lifestyle. The story of her and her fellow “prisoners” is, to put it mildly, tough going (I can’t begin recount the list of horrors) but is dealt with even-handedly and compassionately. It’s a book that should be read by precisely the people who won’t touch it and who’d dismiss the likes of Anais. I, naturally, was rooting for her.     

Like young Hendricks, American writer Richard Brautigan also aggravated law enforcement agencies when he chucked a brick through a police station window back in ‘55. Although done with the intention of being arrested so he’d be fed, Brautigan got more than he bargained for when subsequently sent for twelve sessions of electroshock treatment. Jarvis Cocker presented a 30 minute documentary last week on Radio 4, Messy, Isn’t It? Brautigan shot himself in the head in 1984 and was not discovered until weeks later. Such a grisly death was at odds with the bright playful nature of his most famous work and it was great to hear admirers Holly and David from The Lovely Eggs sing his praises on the wireless. They’ll be pleased to see their man on the cover of the latest issue of Beat Scene magazine which includes an interview with William Hjortsberg, author of Jubilee Hitchhiker: The Life and Times of Richard Brautigan, a new book Beat Scene call “a monumental study, intense in detail, history leaping off the page.”

Brautigan always resented being referred to as a hippy writer after his success with Trout Fishing In America in 1967 and also fumed when A Confederate General From Big Sur linked him to the Beats. My favourite part of Beat Scene is the new book reviews which this issue includes Ring Of Bone by Lew Welch. Welch was inextricably linked to the San Franciscan branch of the Beat Generation through his association with poets Gary Synder and Philip Whalen and for Jack Kerouac’s portrayal of him as his hard-drinking buddy Dave Wain in my favourite Kerouac novel, Big Sur. Ring of Bone is a newly expanded edition that collects poems, songs and drawings and a new foreword by Synder. Welch was staying with Synder in 1971 when he took a revolver into a forest and was never seen again. It’s good to have Welch back in print and be able to add some flesh to the bones, so to speak.

One MonkeyPicks reader wrote my Beat posts were the equivalent of finding only toffees left in a tin of Quality Street – he’d eat them but only if there was no other choice. With that, and the misery above in mind, perhaps a new biography about The Smiths will cheer everyone up. They are still all alive after all. A Light That Never Goes Out: The Enduring Saga of The Smiths by Tony Fletcher is an exhaustive account of the band stretching the best part of 700 pages.  Such is the detail that it’s not until nearly page 200 that Marr knocks on Morrissey’s door looking for a lyricist. Within days they’d completed the classics “Suffer Little Children” and “The Hand That Rocks The Cradle”, which is the point I’m up to at the moment. Fletcher’s Keith Moon book Dear Boy showed what a thorough biographer he is and he’s superb here painting Manchester during the punk and post-punk era. I still find it incredible Morrissey joined Ed Banger and the Nosebleeds in 1978, a year after their “I Ain’t Been To No Music School” single. Morrissey and Marr were the song-writing perfect team, it’s almost impossible to find an unwanted Smiths track. Like dipping in the Quality Street tin and pulling out a caramel swirl every time.

The Panopticon by Jenni Fagan and A Light That Never Goes Out by Tony Fletcher are published by William Heinemann Ltd.

Ring of Bone by Lew Welch is published by City Lights.

Beat Scene is available here.