Sound Man: A Life Recording Hits with The Rolling Stones, The Who, LedZeppelin, The Eagles, Eric Clapton, The Faces . . .

by Glyn Johns

  Stu ’62

  In 1962, Colin Golding, the bass player in The Presidents, introduced me to Ian Stewart, or “Stu” as he was affectionately known. Colin told me that he knew this guy who lived locally who had a vast collection of jazz and blues records. So he was definitely to be checked out. The friendship that grew from that meeting had an immense effect on my life. We met and discussed our mutual interest in the blues. He was so modest that it wasn’t for some time that I found out that he played the piano and that he and a bunch of like-minded blues enthusiasts had put a band together called The Rolling Stones. In fact, he was responsible for starting the band with Brian Jones, having answered an advertisement Brian had placed in Jazz News earlier that year.

  So it was through him that I was to become involved with the Stones from the very beginning through the first thirteen years of their career.

  In late 1964 my father retired and my parents moved to Gloucestershire, so I had to find a place to live. I was twenty-two years old and should have left home long before. The house that I wanted to rent was in my hometown of Epsom. It was twelve guineas a week, an amount I could not afford on my own, so I had to think of someone to share with. The idea did not appeal to me at all. The only person I knew that I would even consider was Stu. He was living very comfortably with his parents. Meals cooked, laundry done, et cetera. So when I called to ask him to join me, his initial reaction was a flat no. It was only when I pointed out the benefit of having the freedom to bring girls home that he changed his mind. However, this was only on the condition that he would have nothing to do with the upkeep of the garden, and under no circumstances would he ever do any cleaning in the house. To say that domesticity was not Stu’s forte is something of an understatement.

  We moved in together and the one piece of furniture that Stu brought with him was his upright piano. I remember waking up one morning to the sound of the most extraordinary blues music wafting up from the living room along with the usual smell of deliberately burned toast that he would make every morning. I went to investigate, to find Stu sitting at the piano, wearing nothing but his underpants, with an open letter on the stool beside him. The contents of the letter, apparently from an old flame, had upset him to such an extent that the only way he could deal with it was to play the blues. I felt like I was intruding, so I went back to my room where, for the next hour or so, I was treated to this impromptu outpouring of emotion by one of the finest blues musicians I have ever come across.

  There were three bedrooms in the house, so he suggested that we invite a pal of his, Brian “Knocker” Wiles, to join us to share the rent. The arrangement worked quite well, as we saw very little of each other. Brian had a day job working in an advertising agency, I was working all hours in the studio, and Stu was off doing gigs with the Stones. There was a convent school for girls just up the road and they would congregate in our driveway on the way home if the Stones’ van was parked there. In those days girls would write on the van with lipstick, so it did not take long for the entire vehicle to be covered with messages of love and adulation for each member of the band. When the bodywork was covered they would write on the windows, so Stu would carry a crate of Coca-Cola in the back specifically for the purpose of cleaning the lipstick off so that he could see to drive.

  By this time the Stones had a successful record deal and were being managed by Andrew Oldham, who had taken the decision to fire Stu from the band as he felt Stu did not look right. I thought that was pretty extraordinary as none of them were exactly textbook for a rock star. He was offered the job as their road manager, I am sure out of loyalty from some members of the band and also due to the fact that he owned the van that they all traveled in with the gear. I was in the next room at Decca Studios when he was told, and when I expressed my disgust at their decision he told me that he was quite happy with the arrangement, adding that the idea of being a pop star had no appeal to him whatsoever and, as he felt they would become incredibly successful, it would be a great way to see the world. As time went by, it proved to be an excellent decision, as he really took to his new role and the freedom it gave him. He was far too straight to ever be a rock star. The Stones were the true beneficiaries. They not only got the services of a great piano player, they also had the most trustworthy friend anyone could wish for as a road manager. Keith Richards has always said that he is still working for Stu and, as far as he is concerned, The Rolling Stones are Stu’s Band.

  • • •

  Stu kept all the Stones’ gear at the house, so we would appropriate guitar amps various from the loft in the roof to use for our sound system, which was very rarely silent, and incredibly loud. Fortunately, the house was in the middle of a large plot a long way back from the road and the neighbors on either side were some distance away. There were many great parties at “The Bungalow,” with much coming and going. There was always something going on, but because we were all so busy we never seemed to get under each other’s feet.

  After some months, Brian Wiles, feeling left out of the action, decided he was going to become a singer and put a blues band together. Stu, being the pal that he was, took it upon himself to help, as Brian did not know any musicians other than those he met through Stu and me, and they were all committed to other bands. I thought the whole idea was a joke, having had the misfortune to hear Mr. Wiles sing, and a blues singer he was not. A few weeks went by and I was informed that the band was formed and ready to play their first gig. It was to be at a local folk club in Leatherhead on a Sunday afternoon. Dreading the prospect, I thought I should at least show willing and went.

  Brian was as insipid as I had expected, but the guitar player was astonishing. I had never seen anything quite like him. Playing rhythm and lead seamlessly with a fantastic sound. He was very cool-looking, quite scruffy, and had car grease ingrained in his hands. I grabbed Stu and asked where the hell he had found this guy. He and Brian had gone to see a band called the Tridents at Eel Pie Island, a popular venue on an island in the middle of the Thames at Twickenham. Being impressed with the guitar player, they approached him after the gig and asked if he would consider joining Brian’s new band, the Nightshift. Everyone knew who Stu was, and I am sure that that was the reason Jeff Beck agreed to join.

  The band did not last long, but Stu and Jeff became lifelong friends and he quickly became one of the crowd that would hang out at the house, as he lived a short distance away in Carshalton. There must have been something in the water locally, as you could have thrown a net over the small area that Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, and Stu came from.

  STU AND THE STONES’ VAN.

  Norwegian Bird

  Stu came home one day with a very pretty, young Norwegian girl he had found thumbing a lift on the side of the road. Apparently, she had been working for a local family as an au pair and had run away in search of some adventure. They spent the night together, and as he was leaving the following day for a six-week tour of America, he asked me to keep an eye on her until he got back home.

  I did not relish the idea at all. Particularly as I was working six or seven days a week, a minimum of twelve hours a day. I didn’t feel comfortable having her around or leaving her alone in the house for long periods of time. She definitely looked like trouble. However, Stu was my pal and I could not refuse his request. She must have made quite an impression on him.

  Although physically very attractive, there was something slightly unbalanced about her. My initial impression quickly proved to be correct, with the exception of “slightly.” A couple of days after Stu had gone, I came home to find her with her head in the gas oven with a half-empty bottle of vodka next to her on the floor. I have no idea if she waited until she heard me coming and leapt into position or not, but she certainly gave me one hell of a fright.

  As I have said, I was very busy at the time, spending long hours in the studio, often not arriving home until dawn. One such morning I was about to put the key in the lock
of the front door, when it swung open and there stood Jeff Beck. Somehow he had got wind of Stu’s good fortune with his young Norwegian friend and, knowing that he was away, decided to take advantage of his absence. I warned Jeff off, saying he was a creep for going behind Stu’s back and that I had better not catch him at the house again.

  Many years later, while on the road with the ARMS tour, he told me, after that night, he would creep round the back of the house and climb into Stu’s room through the window. Leaving undetected by the same route, very often with me asleep in the next room.

  I don’t think she even waited for Stu’s return before she left. I certainly did not encourage her to stay and may well have facilitated her departure in some way. She was a total pain in the arse.

  • • •

  Stu was the great leveler for the band. He would always tell it like it is. There would be no posturing around him. No one was spared his frank and invariably hysterically funny opinion. Although they often appeared to take what he said with a pinch of salt, they knew that he wasn’t going to bullshit them like everyone else around them, and I am sure that a lot of what he said and did had an extremely positive effect on the band as a whole and on the individuals in it. He would go to get them from the dressing room before each show when it was time for them to go onstage, saying, “Come along my little shower of shit.” I am sure no one else on this planet has ever spoken to them like that since his untimely death in 1985.

  He didn’t approve entirely of the direction they took when they started writing their own material. He refused to play anything that he considered to have “Chinese,” or minor, chords in it. That is, anything that was not the more traditional rhythm and blues or boogie-woogie format. So we had to get someone else in to play what he would not. He still played at every gig. He just played the songs that he wanted to.

  The Stones have had a fantastic selection of great piano players perform with them over the years, the cream of the crop: Nicky Hopkins, who in my opinion was a genius, Chuck Leavell, Billy Preston, and Mac—Ian McLagan, the great rough-and-ready rock and roll keyboard player from the Small Faces and the Faces. All of these guys were specialists in their own style of playing and were all quite different from one another, but The Rolling Stones never swung like they did when Stu was playing with them. They became another band. The rhythm section became a whole other thing. The best I have ever heard. He had the most extraordinary feel that seemed to be in complete sympathy with Bill, Charlie, and Keith.

  Stu was like no one else I have ever met. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. He had a rather selfish way of life, not at all in an unpleasant way, as he never interfered with anyone else. You always knew where you were with him. It made for an uncomplicated relationship. I consider him to have been the best friend I will ever have.

  The one question that will always remain with me is, here we have a man who remained exactly the same as the day I met him, with all this total lunacy going on around him. Straight as a die. No drugs. Didn’t smoke. Played golf. He has been dead for almost thirty years, and the band, some of whom have put themselves through the rigors of extreme abuse of one sort or another, are still at it. There is something wrong somewhere.

  STU AND MICK, 1965.

  To Continue ’62

  IBC Studios had been bought in late 1962 by Eric Robinson, then the head of Light Music at the BBC, and a musician associate of his named George Clouston, who was to run the place on a day-to-day basis. I quickly saw an opportunity and approached George with an idea that would enable me to start producing records using IBC, with me finding the talent and George providing the studio and the business expertise. I had no money and no track record, and in those days the idea of an engineer becoming a producer was unheard of. So I was not likely to be approached by any record company, and I was constantly coming across talent that I could do nothing about. It was a no-brainer. He had nothing to lose. I did all the work and all he had to do was let me use the studio during downtime. He agreed on the condition that he would have the sole freedom to place the artists I found with a label and that I would have no say in any of the business negotiations.

  A FLYER FOR THE ROLLING STONES’ FIRST SHOW AT THE RED LION.

  The first act that I brought in was The Rolling Stones, in March 1963. I had started a rhythm and blues night with them at the Red Lion pub in Sutton on the alternate Friday to The Presidents, the band that I managed.

  We had been running a club for our Gang on alternate Fridays for about a year, and it had become extremely popular. So Stu and I thought an R&B night would be a good thing to try. However, this did not prove to be the case. It was right at the beginning for the Stones, and only about a dozen people turned up for the first couple of gigs so we had to close it down. The arrangement was that we split the take on the door, so I shall go down in the annals of rock and roll history for paying the Stones the smallest fee ever for a gig. The equivalent of £3 for the night. This was before Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts had joined the band, with my pal Colin Golding playing bass and Tony Chapman on drums. They were already great, playing Howlin’ Wolf, Jimmy Reed, and Bo Diddley covers. Music that very few people in Britain had heard. It seemed that they were ahead of their time for the locals in Surrey.

  So some weeks later, after Bill and Charlie had joined the band, I approached Stu with the idea of me taking them into IBC to record them under my arrangement with George Clouston.

  They turned up for the session with Brian being very much the leader of the band. He came into the control room to discuss what we were going to do, leaving me in no doubt as to who was in charge. I realize now that this was probably due to nerves, as none of them had ever seen the inside of a real studio before. Although I grew to have a huge respect for him as a musician, I took an instant dislike to him, which was to remain for some years.

  We cut five songs that night: “Diddley Daddy” and “Road Runner,” both Bo Diddley songs; “Baby, What’s Wrong” and “Bright Lights Big City” by Jimmy Reed; and Willie Dixon’s “I Want to Be Loved.” I thought the results were tremendous. I had finally got to record the music that had inspired me so much on my American pal Pat’s Jimmy Reed album. They sounded like the real deal. I remember being particularly impressed by Brian Jones’s harmonica playing, and the extraordinary feel and sound that Charlie and Bill got, and it goes without saying, Stu’s piano playing.

  The tapes were given to George Clouston. He, knowing nothing about the popular music of the day, took the masters to the one person he knew, the head of the classical division at Decca Records, who of course didn’t understand one side of what he was listening to.

  Three weeks later I was coming back from lunch, and out of the front door of IBC Studios came The Rolling Stones. They told me they had decided that they did not wish to be commercial and therefore did not want a record deal. They had met Andrew Oldham for the first time a few days earlier when he had offered to manage them, along with an agent called Eric Easton. Andrew asked whether they had made any commitments to anybody and they told him of their arrangement with IBC Studios and me. So he then told them to go to George Clouston and get out of the arrangement whatever it took, giving them the money to pay for the studio time, should that become necessary, knowing that would probably be all it would take to get them out of the deal. It should be pointed out that George had never seen them until this point and they did look like nothing he had ever witnessed, with their odd clothes, attitude, and long hair. He probably couldn’t wait to get them out of his office and, having failed miserably to get any interest in a deal for them with a major label, felt pleased with himself for getting out of it with the cost of the studio time in his pocket.

  The following week, Andrew Oldham took them to Regent sound studios, and he took the recording to the right guy at Decca, and the rest is history.

  I was quite convinced that they were going to be huge. Not just because of their music but
because of their antiestablishment attitude and, of course, the way that they looked. I immediately started to grow my hair and change the way I dressed, much to my parents’ dismay.

  Once the record had been released and became an instant hit, each week I would take a copy of the NME and leave it on George’s desk, open at the charts. Needless to say, I never forgave him for not consulting me before letting them go. I realized that my original idea had a fatal flaw, and that was George and his total inability to recognize anything remotely commercial, and of course his complete lack of faith in me.

  Not long after the Stones’ session, I had gone to the Flamingo Club in Soho to see Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames. This was one of the best venues in London for live music and had quite a reputation for its weekend all-nighters. It was run by the Gunnell brothers: the older Rik, who in his youth had been a successful amateur boxer, and John, who had this massive scar down one side of his face. I often wondered how he got it but never had the nerve to ask.

  I’ve been told that in order to operate a music venue in the West End in the late fifties and early sixties, you had to get permission and pay dues to one of the East End gangs, most likely Ronnie and Reggie Kray’s lot or maybe an infamous villain named Jack Spot. So most of the guys running clubs seemed to be on the edge of the law. The Gunnell brothers were always perfectly pleasant to me. In fact, they became clients, as they retained me to record a couple of the acts that they managed.