Not Mr. Livingstone
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.
Sweet Sensation
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, 2nd 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.
The Cyril Dagworth Players
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.
Snuff, Sledge And Jameson’s
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.
Climax Blues Band
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 consiste
d 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.
Something To Do With Wimbledon Fortnight
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.
Jam Nights
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 Start
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.
I remember listening to Keith Marriott and Damien Darlington – both top flight players in my view – at the Leisure Club with Plum on bass. Keith Marriott nearly blew me away. Another night I saw John Darlington and another time I met Melvyn, Pete Johnson’s drummer – an inspiration. I also met Pete’s bass player, Moggsie: a nice bloke – quiet – and he did a bit of drumming. He encouraged me.
Plum was the sound engineer when The Limelight opened. He did it for the first six years or so and I did the lights for twelve months, with Plum on the sound desk. That was my inspiration to play drums: watching all the bands that came through The Limelight.
I didn’t start gigging till I was thirty-three and I’m still enjoying it. My latest band is The Start – that’s what the Crewe scene gave me as a musician. People who’ve made the big time still have their roots in this area. I was chatting to Damien Darlington at the Haslington Cosy Club a couple of weeks ago. He formed The Australian Pink Floyd in the early Nineties and travels all over the world playing to thousands of people. He’s touring England at the moment but looking forward to going back to the States – they play up to 9,000 a time there. I asked him if it ever fazed him and he said yes at first but not any more – he’s used to it.
Andy Smith. (34)
Keith Marriott
“But I guess I let my playing do the talking for me.” (35)
Keith Marriot first started coming to the shop when he was about twelve – a contemporary of Andy Boote and John Darlington. He was always reserved – he didn’t quite fit with what he was. With other musicians it was more excessive: music, sex and substances. Keith was less hedonistic: he liked girls; he liked a drink but not to excess.
He’s a fantastic electric guitarist – one of the few that has a style of his own and he’s played with a lot of people. He just stands there and does it. His bad back stopped him taking a job with the Australian Pink Floyd. He’s a bit self-effacing but his performance confidence has improved over the years and performance is what it’s all about. His latest band is Headband: “We play Rock n Blues with a twist of funk and we try to be a little bit different”.
Raphael
One of the last jam nights I did at The Limelight was with Whitty’s son Raphael on drums. It was just like having Whitty there. It was a full-on Skunk Band that night: Moggsie was still alive; Bootie was there; the chemistry was there. There was a variety of time signatures but Raphael didn’t put a beat wrong: Moggsie, who could also play drums, would indicate what was to come by tapping his foot. Raphael playing with the Skunk Band was amazing and emotional.
Clive Gregson: Any Trouble
Some musicians were peripheral to the Skunk Band but had a brief part in the story. Clive Gregson, who lived in the flat at the back of the butcher’s four doors away was one such person. This would be the late Seventies, early Eighties. Inevitably he visited the shop, as all musicians did. My connection with Clive Gregson began when the two of us set up a folk club at the Royal Hotel. Like many of the musicians I’ve met, I came across him just before he became successful. He did John Martyn stuff and had been involved in the folk scene with a number of competent local musicians. They decided to enter the pop field as Any Trouble. Their style resembled Elvis Costello.
Any Trouble went on the circuit as a good touring band and received acclaim. They did five albums and hundreds of gigs before breaking up in 1984. Clive was the singer-songwriter and also a good guitarist – certainly in the folk music world. He eventually became a solo artist: a wise move since it’s the songwriter who makes the money. If a band goes out touring then a respectable wage is possible but all the royalties go to the songwriter. Stevie Wonder benefited far more than Des for “Isn’t She Lovely?” Des has written songs and jingles and provided himself with enough money to live on: more money than he could have made performing.
Clive Gregson’s musical partnership with Christine Collister was described by Rolling Stone as “the state of the art in British folk-rock” and he has become a worldwide performer, songwriter, session musician and record producer. His songs have been recorded by Nanci Griffith (the originator of the genre known as folkabilly), Kim Carnes, Fairport Convention, Claire Martin, Norma Waterson and Smokie.
Great Outdoors: The Black Run
I continued to pursue sporting activities side by side with my business and musical career. I am a very keen skier and always choose the most demanding run: the black run. I came to realise that this applied to my music too.
I enjoyed the off-piste opportunities as much as the sport. Snow is very stimulating. I remember a mountain escapade with the Head Buyer from a famous store: we literally fell for one another in the snow. The ingredients for the coupling were all present: a party mood with sin
ging and dancing in a local inn – me being the chief musician; guiding the lady along the piste, through the conifers; both falling in the cold snow feeling each other’s body heat; more partying and then, ever the gentleman, insisting on escorting the stylish young woman to her hotel, sending off the German rival en route and somehow, because of the lateness of the hour, the problem of keys and the Head Buyer’s plain friend, ending up in my bed together, where the fortunate woman experienced her first orgasm. So she said.
One of my horse-riding companions with whom I had a long-term relationship liked making love outdoors – mainly at her instigation. She used to go out without knickers. I remember a few compromising situations where you had to stay very still for a while. Imagine a bench on a disused railway line and a fat bloke with a bag of cans lumbering past. Then a woman in a turquoise jogging suit. Then after a short while some kids shoving one another. All going past. Then someone else in expensive trainers. Then someone on a bike. Then another jogger with sweatbands. Then someone with a sniffing dog. This amounted to a lot of starting and stopping. I don’t know how we got there. The dogs were the worst interruptions.
Tom Jackson: Tour Manager
Round about my fortieth birthday I kick-started my solo career, appearing as Pete “Snakey Jake” Johnson. The Skunk Band still did the occasional gig for charity.
Tom Jackson, an ex-singer with Clive Gregson’s band, offered to manage me, organising gigs in Chester at Alexander’s Jazz Theatre, in London at the Twelve Bar Club, at the Trades Club in Hebden Bridge, and at a place near the Scottish border. There was a week spent in Nottingham and gigs in Derby, Huddersfield and Lichfield. He did it all for love. He loved the music; he loved my virtuosity. This lasted about a year and both of us enjoyed the experiences but, socially and musically nourishing as it had been, there was no future in this because it was impossible to make any money in this league of venues and I had to cover time spent away from the shop, when the takings would inevitably be down.
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