My British Invasion

by Harold Bronson

  In “Pretty Flamingo,” built atypically for the group around a strummed acoustic guitar, Paul Jones’ expansive vocal conveys the sunny mood in a fantasy of a beautiful, sexy woman walking down the street. It became their second number one in England; only twenty-nine in the States. (Bruce Springsteen performed it as part of his set during his 1975 tour.) It still wasn’t enough to satisfy Paul: “The group’s spirit was lifted for a time, but then it plunged. We all became disenchanted because the fire had gone out. That lineup existed from December 1965 to July 1966. When I left, the band transformed.” It was the last song Paul recorded with the band.

  As the lead singer and star, Paul Jones had basked in the glow of pop stardom. He was also interviewed as he was considered a pop intellectual: he had gone to Oxford, collected avant-garde poetry, married a novelist, and had worn a Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament badge. (When signing autographs, Paul wrote “CND” next to his name.) Despite the attention, he was upset because the band was named after someone else. It was a blow to his ego when fans approached him on the street thinking his name was Manfred.

  Paul finally left to star in a movie, Peter Watkins’ futuristic drama Privilege. Of his time in the band, Paul told me that he enjoyed performing the blues and R&B songs, but not most of the singles. “Looking back, I liked the silly songs that were about the group,” he said, “like ‘5-4-3-2-1’ and ‘Man in the Middle,’ and also ‘If You Gotta Go, Go Now.’”

  In Privilege, Paul portrayed pop idol Steve Shorter, who achieved godlike popularity and then is manipulated by the establishment—politicians, religious leaders, corporations—to control Britain’s youth. “I’d never done any acting and I never intended to,” Paul said. “Somebody rang me up and asked me if I’d be interested in appearing in this Peter Watkins movie. I’d read in the papers how Eric Burdon was offered the part, and being vain, I wasn’t going to take a small part in an Eric Burdon movie. It turned out that it was Eric’s part I was offered, for no other reason than someone thought it would be great to have Jean Shrimpton for the female part, and Eric wouldn’t look good next to her. They wanted somebody who was tall and thin for the male lead.”

  Paul, a fan of “way out movies,” was familiar with Watkins’ heavy docudramas. “It was great being offered a film of substance when everything one was offered before was sort of Robin Hood musicals with rock groups cast away on desert islands or sent to the moon, horrible stuff like that that Manfred and I used to laugh at when we were sent scripts to read. I enjoyed the part tremendously.”

  The film’s opening scene has a tormented Shorter dragged onstage by handcuffed guards who beat him with nightsticks and then lock him in a cage. Girls scream hysterically as he sings “Free Me.” The drama made a big impression on Alice Cooper, who was inspired to create theatrical set pieces for his group. Patti Smith was so moved she led off side two of her 1978 album Easter with her version of the song.

  The film was partially based on Lonely Boy, a revealing 1962 documentary short on pop singer Paul Anka. Watkins even recreated certain scenes for his movie. In Paul’s estimation, the documentary format backfired: “I think I was pretty damn ordinary in the part, and I didn’t feel that Steve Shorter could be identifiable with anybody. That’s because of Watkins’ quasi-documentary presentation. One identifies more with fictional situations. Steve Shorter was the product of many hours between Watkins and myself, discussing the extent to which teen idols are manipulated. Like, there were some who signed contracts stating that they wouldn’t marry.”

  Paul summarized the message of the plodding picture: “I view the film as a noble failure, one that dealt with important questions. All his films are talking about the immediate future. The whole thing was that everyone should decide things for himself and not rely on others just because they may have certain educational qualifications. There’s no politician in the world who knows more than you or I. He was saying ‘never accept what politicians say.’”

  Within months after filming, Paul scored two top five UK hits: “High Time” and “I’ve Been a Bad Bad Boy.” The latter was from the movie. There was even a better record on the soundtrack album, “Privilege,” the intended title song that wasn’t included in the film.

  Then it all fell apart. Given how briefly his solo stardom flared, it seemed almost as if Paul had ended up on the reverse of the Crossroads pact for abandoning the blues. Privilege bombed and over the next three years he had six flop records. Of special note is the talent behind the best of those, a cover of The Bee Gees’ “And the Sun Will Shine”: Peter Asher produced; Mike Vickers arranged; Paul McCartney contributed drums; Jeff Beck, guitar; and Paul Samwell-Smith, bass.

  Paul: “At that time, shortly after the movie, I was going for fame. I wanted to be the biggest thing. I didn’t make it. I lost direction and sight of what made me successful, which was being raucous and simple.” Paul cobbled together a living mostly by acting in films and plays. In 1979 he returned to his blues roots—with Tom McGuinness joining him—in The Blues Band. As of 1991, he and most of the members of Manfred Mann—but not Manfred—reformed and have revived the group’s catalogue in concert. Billed as “The Manfreds,” in 2015 they played over thirty dates in the UK and twelve in Australia. Paul’s also been the host of an excellent BBC radio show dedicated to his first love, the blues.

  Chapter Two

  For the rest of the band it was devastating when Paul left, even more so after their label signed him to a solo deal, casting them adrift. “We were so nervous about the whole success thing,” recounted Mann. “Our big lead singer star of the sixties had left and everyone thought the band would fold. We were so worried about getting a new lead singer and some more hit singles and not failing and landing up delivering milk in the morning.” The band replaced Paul with Mike d’Abo of A Band of Angels. Both acts were performing on the A Whole Scene Going TV show, and the Manfreds were impressed with d’Abo’s singing and hired him away.

  Jack Bruce also left, to form Cream with Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker. Klaus Voormann was recruited to replace him. A fine musician, Voormann was better known as The Beatles’ Hamburg friend who designed the album jacket for Revolver. Years later this lineup was referred to as the second chapter of the band, or “chapter two.” The group reestablished itself with “Just Like a Woman,” their second UK Top 10 with a Bob Dylan composition. With Vickers, Bruce, and Jones gone, the blues, R&B, and jazz styles were largely absent in favor of pop rock.

  The band wasn’t thought of as progressive, yet Manfred was an earlier adopter of the Mellotron, an electronic instrument popularized by The Beatles and The Moody Blues. Manfred Mann’s October 1966 single “Semi-Detached Suburban Mr. James,” which barely missed the top spot in the UK, was the first hit to feature the Mellotron. In 1967 Mann and Hugg formed a company to compose soundtracks, produce other artists, and provide jingles for British European Airways (BEA), Hovis bread, and Dulux house paint, among others.

  Because of their success with Dylan’s songs, they got a copy of the unreleased Basement Tapes as the publishing demos were subsequently called, and thought “The Mighty Quinn (Quinn the Eskimo)” had potential. It was another fine arrangement from the band, characterized by Voormann’s signature flute line and Hugg’s resonant drum rolls. The record hit number one in England and returned the band to the US Top 10 in the spring of 1968.

  The Mighty Quinn LP is the most indicative solid work of this lineup. Even with a new lead singer, the sound was still distinctly Manfred Mann. Although Manfred didn’t consider chapter two a good live band, there were some positives. Mike Hugg had grown as a songwriter. (In 1965 he cowrote “You’re a Better Man Than I,” a much-lauded Yardbirds B-side.) One of the LP’s songs, “Day Time Night-Time,” was a top five hit for Keith Hampshire in Canada.

  They had another handful of hits in England and then decided to dissolve. “I don’t think the first two chapters had that much of a following—those who went
out and bought every record,” observed Mann. “People more or less just bought a song that they heard and liked. The first two chapters were aiming for success more for its own sake and were prepared to compromise in order to attain it. Each record as the years went by was just a step further away from what we originally wanted to do. By doing those records we got into rock. We were never into rock before. We picked up new influences and got into new things. After five years of making pop records, we ended up feeling part of that scene and not in any sense feeling part of the jazz scene.”

  Mike d’Abo had success as a songwriter. In the year Manfred Mann folded, he had a big hit with The Foundations’ “Build Me Up Buttercup,” which went gold on both sides of the Atlantic. That same year Rod Stewart recorded “Handbags and Gladrags” for his debut album. (The Stereophonics 2001 cover of the song went gold in the UK.) D’Abo acted in the theater, and later also composed music for TV commercials. Klaus Voormann became an in-demand session musician, with credits on albums by members of The Beatles, James Taylor, Carly Simon, and Lou Reed, among others. In 1982 he produced the debut album for German group Trio, resulting in the worldwide hit “Da Da Da” that broke through in America in 1997 when used in a Volkswagen commercial. In 1970 Tom McGuinness cofounded McGuinness-Flint, with a repertoire borrowed from the American South, similar to The Band, and had two more top five UK hits. In 1989 McGuinness coproduced and codirected a documentary on Jimi Hendrix for The South Bank Show. I thought it was excellent and gave him a call in England to discuss having him direct one for Rhino, but it never transpired.

  Chapter Three

  Mike Hugg, too, was disenchanted being in a pop band: “What we were doing before was almost like a day job, and to make those hit records was like going into the office every day and working hard.” Hugg and Mann both missed performing live, performing the jazz that so energized them before they started having hits. Mere months after Manfred Mann dissolved, they attracted six musicians to their new ensemble and named it Manfred Mann Chapter III. The new direction, a drastic change from the previous two groups, emerged as a jazz-rock hybrid. With a horn section, the music reminded me of Charlie Mingus and Don Ellis. Hugg switched to piano and sang in a deliberate, hoarse manner similar to Dr. John. Mann and Hugg furnished their group with exquisite arrangements—mostly of Hugg’s songs—resulting in a solid debut. “A ‘B’ Side,” the flip to Manfred Mann’s last hit “Ragamuffin Man,” was reprised as “Traveling Lady.”

  It wasn’t long before the brass started to take over and Mann realized that Chapter III was more Hugg’s baby than his. The subsequent album, Volume II, pushed free form jazz, as rock receded. Subsequently, some of the brass was dropped and two girl singers were added, but Mann still wasn’t happy and dissolved the project after two years.

  Chapter Four

  Sometime before the recording of that second album, though, Mann confessed his doubts to me: “We could do things that would likely make the group more successful. We could drop the brass and get a hip swinging guy up front to sing and play guitar—hey, that’s not a bad idea!” We both chuckled. Little did either of us know at the time, but that’s precisely what Manfred did. In 1971 Mann collected vocalist/guitarist/hip swinger Mick Rodgers, bassist Colin Pattenden, and drummer Chris Slade in a progressive rock band named Manfred Mann’s Earth Band. I thought the group sounded like Free, a band Manfred liked from the beginning. The group’s first single, “Please Mrs. Henry,” another Dylan song, sounded similar to “All Right Now.”

  It took time, but Manfred hit pay dirt again. The band scored three Top 10s in their familiar UK turf, but Manfred had his biggest success yet in America. A cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Spirit in the Night” hit number one in 1977, and the accompanying album, The Roaring Silence, became his first—and so far only—gold album.

  Manfred claimed that this band was his best live group. He still tours with a version of the Earth Band, mostly in Europe. Manfred’s expressed desire of decades past still rings true: “I want to get out on stage and play, play good rock music so that it is an enjoyable evening for everyone.”

  The Yardbirds

  “The band was extraordinary, not only because of its musicianship, but because it was a band of ideas.”

  —Chris Dreja

  I was a big Yardbirds fan. The Yardbirds’ Greatest Hits was one of my most-played albums in high school. I later bought their albums and UK imports, and tracked down their obscure singles. The early-seventies band I had at UCLA included one of their songs in our set, and we recorded an original composition much in the group’s style. Jim McCarty, The Yardbirds’ drummer, was the second interview I conducted as a young rock journalist when he was in town promoting Renaissance, his new band with The Yardbirds’ singer Keith Relf. I was inspired to write a lengthy overview on the band that became a cover story for Rock Magazine’s March 15, 1971 issue. In the early days of Rhino Records, I interviewed Jim and guitarist Chris Dreja and produced a Yardbirds picture disc. Most of the quotes in this chapter are from that February 11, 1982 discussion.

  Although other artists of the British Invasion had more hits, I rank The Yardbirds third to The Beatles and The Rolling Stones on artistic innovation. Internal problems kept the group from ever reaching their commercial potential, and they ended up falling quite short, being instead remembered for leaving an indelible mark on the evolution of rock, especially in terms of technique and electronic experimentation, and for the development of the lead guitar (and lead guitarist). It might also be argued that, when they occasionally flashed the brilliance they were capable of, The Yardbirds produced some of the best rock ’n’ roll of the sixties.

  In May 1963 members of two groups formed The Yardbirds: Keith Relf (age twenty), lead vocals and harmonica; Paul Samwell-Smith (twenty), bass; Jim McCarty (nineteen), drums; Chris Dreja (seventeen), rhythm guitar; Anthony “Top” Topham (fifteen), lead guitar. Keith, who was fond of beat literature, came up with “The Yardbirds,” a term for hobos who hung around railroad yards, after seeing it in Jack Kerouac’s writings. The band’s passion was to play American blues and rhythm and blues of performers such as Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley, Jimmy Reed, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Jelly Roll Morton, and Lightnin’ Slim. “The names they had were extraordinary,” observed Chris, “‘Jelly Roll Morton,’ ‘Lightnin’ Slim,’ and ‘Howlin’ Wolf.’ What’s a ‘Howlin’ Wolf’ when you live in Surbiton?”

  The group was gigging regularly at London clubs when the members decided to devote more time to their music. Topham, still in school, had to quit because his parents wouldn’t allow him to turn professional. He was replaced by an art school acquaintance of Dreja and Relf’s, eighteen-year-old Eric Clapton, solidifying a lineup that Jim McCarty distilled into “three art school boys and two grammar school boys.” Clapton, whose role models were guitarists Buddy Guy, Freddie King, and B. B. King, made his debut on October 19 at the Crawdaddy club. “What I immediately liked about The Yardbirds was that our entire reason for existence was to honor the tradition of the blues,” he wrote in his autobiography.

  Chris Dreja welcomed Eric into the group, and shared his room with him: “It seemed like Eric would go through a style every six months. During that time it was novel to pretend one was an American, and dress in an Ivy League style with a crew cut like Steve McQueen. After that he wore his hair in a bouffant and wore a plastic mac [a cheap Mackintosh raincoat]. Eric was moody and quiet, but he shared our sense of humor.” Similar to Keith, Eric enjoyed reading beat literature, and was a fan of French and Japanese movies.

  With his natty blond hair, Keith Relf resembled The Rolling Stones’ Brian Jones. He was the natural star of the group and would later receive the most fan mail. His singing voice was ragged, slightly nasal, and uncultivated, and sounded like a harmonica, an instrument at which he excelled.

  During performances at the Crawdaddy, the Marquee, and other clubs, Eric Clapton came into his own. When Clapton first audit
ioned for The Yardbirds, he couldn’t play the usual melody lines and ended up improvising “as an excuse,” because he didn’t know what else to do. Clapton used lightweight guitar strings that broke frequently. While he changed them, the impatient crowd would slowly handclap in unison, resulting in the nickname of “Slowhand” from “slow hand clap(ton).”

  During this early period, Jim kept his day job in a stockbroker’s office. He would show up at gigs wearing his pinstriped suit, a cymbal under one arm, the Financial Times under the other. “I would change clothes in the lavatory and come out as a blues player, like Superman,” he said. “We called him ‘the accountant,’” added Chris.

  The proprietor of the Crawdaddy, Giorgio Gomelsky, had been a champion of The Rolling Stones. He wanted to manage them, and even made a film of them performing (which has never turned up). Instead, the group signed with Andrew Loog Oldham, who accelerated them into venues larger than the modest backroom of the Station Hotel where the Richmond club was based. Giorgio had the similarly styled Yardbirds replace them as regulars, and soon signed them to a management contract.

  Giorgio Gomelsky, twenty-nine, was a real character, a charismatic, bearded, bear of a man who sprinkled his Russian-accented English with “Baby.” He grew up in the Russian (SSR) republic of Georgia, was schooled in Switzerland, and had contacts throughout Europe. His day job was that of an assistant film editor. He loved jazz and R&B.

  The group signed with EMI (CBS label Epic in the US), and throughout 1964 recorded three singles (two issued in Britain) and a live album at the Marquee Club. Recorded in March and not released until December, Five Live Yardbirds was one of the few live rock albums then recorded. It was not all that it could have been. Some clown had had the idea of speeding up all of the ten tracks so they would fit on a single LP disc. Years later this was corrected, resulting in forty-five minutes of astonishingly (for its time) energetic, fast-paced rock ’n’ roll. During the verses on the album’s opener, “Too Much Monkey Business,” Clapton’s guitar sounds restrained, releasing a little energy by sneaking in notes here and there; then as soon as the break comes, all his power is forcefully unleashed. The whole album’s like that. Clapton’s irresistible playing sounds at times like a chicken chasing a fire engine, and at others like a staggering drunken rooster. Although Clapton was the only stellar musician, what strikes me more is how well the musicians jelled, forging a unique sound based on intense drives and climaxes that came to be called “rave-up.”