Back in London’s Matrix Studios, the band continued with album sessions which hopped between there and Pluto in Manchester. At times Rourke and Joyce reportedly felt over-awed by Porter’s presence, his wealth of experience as a producer and bass player often making them uncomfortable, but for Johnny the experience was a learning curve of the highest order, and as Marr developed his studio-awareness, so the entire band benefited. John Porter taught the band more about the production process than anyone to date had, taking Johnny under his wing almost as though he were a younger brother needing guidance. He recognised a stunning talent in Johnny, and felt almost beholden to help develop it. “He showed me how to make a record,” Johnny told Record Collector in 1992, and while Marr has clearly admitted that the album did not have the finish and the completeness that it might, The Smiths nevertheless arrived as a recording band under Porter’s guidance. Indeed a large part of the album was played on Porter’s 1954 Fender Telecaster, as well as on a Les Paul and Rickenbacker 12-string. After the rest of the band went home, John and Johnny would often spend the entire night in the studio, layering guitar parts and piecing together the various pieces of the sonic jigsaw. By morning they would stagger from the studio exhausted, but with finished tapes to hand. It was a lesson in how to manage one’s time and concentration in the studio that would remain with Johnny throughout his career.
As the tracks came together, while working at Eden Studios in Chiswick, Porter decided to bring in one of his contacts to add a little extra colour to some of the songs. Paul Carrack knew John Porter through the mid-Seventies band Kokomo, and received the call from The Smiths’ producer out of the blue, as often happened to the increasingly in-demand ex-Ace and Squeeze player. “I used to do quite a bit of stuff in Chiswick when anyone needed any keyboards doing,” remembers Paul. Bands would be in urgent need of some piano or organ work, and Carrack would get the call. “John [Porter] said he was producing these guys, and that they had this real sort of cult following,” Carrack recalls. “And he said that it was a bit unusual.” Carrack remembers receiving a cassette from Porter, containing the Troy Tate tracks – “some sort of demos or tracks on cassette to get accustomed to,” as he describes them. Having listened over a few times, Carrack “just went up one evening and overdubbed,” appearing on three of the albums’ songs – ‘I Don’t Owe You Anything’, ‘Reel Around The Fountain’ and ‘You’ve Got Everything Now’. “They’d recorded the tracks and just said ‘feel free,’” remembers Paul. “I just instinctively played what happened, and I doubt if it was more than one or two takes per song.” The band relaxed around the studio as Carrack added what he describes as “the icing – a little bit of colour.” Morrissey was, famously, impressed with Carrack’s trademark swirling Hammond organ sound on ‘You’ve Got Everything Now’, noting with typical dry wit that it sounded like ‘Reginald Dixon on acid,’ which Carrack took as “a huge compliment! I remember him just sort of huddled in the corner, quite shy,” says Paul.
Carrack remembers Johnny as being open and friendly throughout the sessions – as indeed were the whole band: “I don’t remember it being arduous… they were really nice.” Johnny in particular struck Paul as a little bit different to the usual punky guitarist with whom he often found himself working. “I thought Johnny was a nice guy – he talked about his parents, who were music lovers,” Carrack remembers, being impressed when Johnny engaged him in a conversation about the legendary country artist Jim Reeves. “We often used to find that, when you’re with the younger bands, they would be very ‘anti-’ anything like that. Going back twenty years, we were old farts then, and to be talking to this young guy about things like Jim Reeves… I thought, well – they must have something.”
This intriguing band made a big impression on this seasoned session player. “I do remember thinking it was unusual. It definitely had a very strange vibe about it – that sounds wrong – a very strong atmosphere.” More than twenty years later, with an astounding list of credits to his name that includes working with every major artist on the planet, and enjoying a burgeoning and ever-developing solo career, Paul is reminded of his few hours’ work with The Smiths on an almost daily basis. “I’ve got a bit of a CV, I suppose,” he laughs now. “And [after] two or three hours with them, it’s amazing how many people will jump on that and say, ‘You played with The Smiths!!’”
Legends were certainly being born in the autumn of 1983. Lennon and McCartney. Jagger and Richards. Leiber and Stoller. Bacharach and David. Morrissey and Marr had arrived.
A mighty night for Johnny, and indeed for the entire band, came on November 24, as The Smiths made their first historic appearance on Top Of The Pops, still [just] the UK’s premier pop show. While for many acts TOTP was a huge stepping stone to the big time, The Smiths were becoming successful despite the media interest in them rather than as a result of it. But every so often an act appears on Top Of The Pops that changes the world. Bowie’s appearance singing ‘Starman’ in July 1972 was one such instance. The Smiths’ first appearance was another. “I didn’t take [contemporary pop music] at all seriously until I saw Johnny Marr,” Noel Gallagher said of the show. “When The Smiths came on Top Of The Pops, that was it for me. I wanted to be Johnny Marr.” The Smiths records and sessions were being played on the radio because people wanted to hear them, rather than the other way round, but the band were understandably excited, as they took the stage following gender-bender extraordinaire Marilyn. Johnny was nervous, and so intent on not making a fool of himself that his tactic of self-preservation was to root his feet firmly to the floor and to stay put. Rocking while Morrissey’s flowers and a stage-full of balloons lent a festive exuberance to the proceedings, Johnny was very visible on Top Of The Pops, and it was not only Noel Gallagher who was watching – a generation of indie guitarists were inspired too.
Immediately after Top Of The Pops – on the same night – the band were met outside The Hacienda by Mike Pickering. Two thousand punters had managed to get in, while a thousand more thronged along Whitworth Street outside. To a fanatical audience the band played a fourteen-song set that concluded with a rousing ‘Hand In Glove’. What Johnny called “three years of A Hard Day’s Night,” had begun.
As Christmas approached, the band took off for their first visit to the USA, booked to make their first appearance at The Danceteria, New York’s leading dance club, on New Year’s Eve. It should have been the start of a significant assault on America’s eastern seaboard. While Morrissey had family in America and had visited them a number of times in his teenage years, for the rest of the band it was their first time on an aeroplane. To be heading out west to the Big Apple was as exciting as it got – “having our dreams come true,” as Johnny described it. In fact it was the start of a careering course for The Smiths and for Johnny in particular. While the band appeared to gather speed along some pre-determined racetrack to success, in fact it was more as though they were beginning to lose control of the steering. The Smiths suddenly – and not for the first time – found themselves without a manager on the very day that they left for New York. So close to the band’s departure that several members of the party were surprised not to find him at the airport, Joe Moss decided to hang up his managerial hat and let go his connection with the band he had been so instrumental in getting going.
Over the years there has been much speculation about why Joe made this decision. Sound man Grant Showbiz, speaking to Q magazine many years later, felt that Moss got out to avoid having to deal with the pressures of the increasing numbers of people who wanted a slice of the band. Showbiz personally believes that that the fact that he was not ‘music biz’ didn’t help him. Rough Trade, he believes, would have preferred their own management. They definitely “had a sniff that they’d got ‘the big one.’” If that was the case, it was perhaps understandable that the company putting in so much money into The Smiths – regardless of whether the sums were modest compared to a major label – would have preferred the man at the business h
elm to be someone they were more familiar with.
“What actually happened I don’t know,” says Grant – reinforcing the air of mystery that still surrounds the matter. “I’ve always imagined it was that way inclined. We went to America for the first time and Joe wasn’t with us.” Others have speculated that Morrissey and Moss did not see eye to eye, or that Johnny’s friendship with Joe got in the way of the creative relationship between the two writers. To whatever degree any of the above unproven rumour is true, it only influenced Joe’s actual decision to leave, which was actually for a completely different reason. Joe had earlier separated from his first wife, and had young children both from that relationship and his new partner, so family priorities were naturally high on his agenda. Moss himself was forty years old, and dealing with a bunch of teenagers in the fastest-moving, most destructive industry on the planet. Exciting it might have been to witness the birth of The Smiths, but the birth of a daughter took precedence. Joe Moss left the band because – whatever the pressures that were or were or not upon him – his family was more important to him than The Smiths.
One thing is sure: the band missed his guidance. “They were so lucky to have that year or so with Joe,” Grant remembers again. “That really defined what they did afterwards. It was all done ‘Joe-less’ after that.”
Landing in the USA without Moss, Johnny and the band were met in New York by a limousine organised by the woman who had booked them for The Danceteria, Ruth Polski. Polski specialised in coming over to the UK, identifying new and exciting bands, and being the first person in the USA to book them there. She had a good track record too –The Fall, New Order and – according to Grant Showbiz – Echo And The Bunnymen were amongst her conquests. Grant remembers Ruth as “a wonderful, wonderful woman.” Polski is remembered as an opportunist, “in the most delightful way,” says Grant. “Obviously we were very happy that an American promoter was all over us, and was being very lovely to us.”
Arriving in the States without a manager, Johnny and Morrissey did their best to keep their hands on the wheel. While they may not have had a manager – and the fact was not missed by Ms Polski – they had brought something with them; a virus. Within days Mike Joyce hit the deck with a major dose of chicken pox, and while publicist Scott Piering began to take on some of the managerial responsibilities it was – as it proved for much of the rest of the life of the band – Johnny and Morrissey who also tried to keep hold of the reins. The gig at the Danceteria went down very well, but because of Mike’s illness the remaining dates had to be cancelled. Disappointed in New York, Johnny and Morrissey’s response was to pen ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’ in their hotel room, reflecting a low point for the band as a major opportunity to cement their profile in America was lost. Silver linings and all that…
* * *
Back in the UK in the early days of the New Year, Johnny settled into the upstairs rooms of Joe’s house, where he was still living, and Morrissey became the first Smith to move to a flat in London, in the elegant surroundings of Cadogan Square. While the pressures of taking care of the band continued to increase, issues in Johnny’s private life took a turn for the worse.
First of all, Marr’s relationship with Angie Brown had shuddered to (an albeit temporary) halt. Angie had not travelled to New York, and it was virtually the first time they had been apart during their already long relationship. The split lasted about two weeks. The effect on Johnny was dramatic. “That was the point when my heart went out to Johnny,” Grant Showbiz remembers. “[I thought]… if he’s lost Angie what’s he gonna do?”
Johnny’s other problem was Andy Rourke. Andy was developing a classic rock ’n’ roll habit, heroin, and in a gesture of support alongside Johnny’s friendship, Joe Moss offered Rourke his basement to live in while he tried to sort himself out. It was important both for him and his role within the band that Johnny and Joe were there to help. Several people close to The Smiths remained unaware of Rourke’s problems, and all around him felt that – especially with the anti-drug manifesto that the band had developed – his problems should remain (excusing the pun) under wraps.
* * *
While the juggernaut of publicity and notoriety continued to nudge them forward, the New Year of 1984 would prove to be the biggest yet for The Smiths. This was the year of Sade, the Nigerian-born sister of all things cool through the mid-Eighties. Britain sat back and chilled out to her ‘Your Love Is King’, wore sunglasses in the early hours of the morning, grooved to The Thompson Twins and waited for the Next Big Thing while Billy Ocean’s ‘Caribbean Queen’ gently rocked the elevators of the world. The singles charts were crying out for new blood – something iconoclastic, stylish, dashing and irresistible.
It was fitting then, that January saw the release of ‘What Difference Does It Make?’, backed with the gently finger-picked ‘Back To The Old House’, a song written with Angie in mind. The single did very well for the band, proving to be their second-highest chart placing when it stalled prematurely at number twelve. The band appeared on Top Of The Pops to promote it. The same show featured the first appearance on a UK stage by a young upstart singer and dancer from New York, who harboured a mighty talent and an even mightier ambition. The following night the twenty-five year old from Bay City, Michegan, appeared at The Hacienda. She earned fifty quid for her troubles, and – unable to gain access to her digs at Mike Pickering’s house – spent the cold January night on his front door step. By the same time next year, Madonna’s rise to the top of the pop ladder would be almost complete.
The Smiths were quite clearly in line to be ‘the next big thing,’ but they were pipped to the crown over the course of the year by a bunch of Scousers from down the M62. While Morrissey’s lyrics hinted at sexual uncertainty, and while Johnny, Andy and Mike were undoubtedly the best guitar and rhythm section going, it was Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s all-out sado-masochistic and highly produced pyrotechnics that actually stole the show.
While The Smiths’ production sound was fantastic – they were a dream waiting to come true in a hundred thousand bedsits – Frankie Goes To Hollywood had a sheen and gloss that made their material irresistible. While The Smiths were the next big singles band who were going to break internationally and be huge, in the course of the year the Frankies broke all records with their three number one hits ‘Relax’, ‘Two Tribes’ and ‘The Power Of Love’. Commercially at least, they did in twelve months what The Smiths failed to do in five years. The key was that The Smiths rallied against the increasing importance of the pop video in the age of MTV. Frankie Goes To Hollywood grasped the nettle of publicity firmly, and their videos were superb advertisements for their material. The first British act to hit the number one slot with their first three singles since Gerry and The Pacemakers, their success was secured with stunning promotion from Manchester journalist Paul Morley and, with ‘Two Tribes’, a video directed by Godley and Crème, formerly of 10cc. If Liverpool won three-nil against The Smiths, it was ironically with Manchester’s help.
Undeterred, Johnny and the band soldiered on, and 1984 was in many ways the year of The Smiths too. February saw the release of the eponymous debut, The Smiths. The band’s first album opens at stately pace. ‘Reel Around The Fountain’ is a graceful, haunting piece, introduced not by Marr’s guitar or Morrissey’s memorable croon, but with Mike Joyce’s metronomic snare and hi-hat. Lyrically, the song opens on a dialogue between writer, audience and band apparently already half-run. Although this was a brand new band with a brand new album, the listener is invited into a myth all ready to be unravelled. Johnny’s guitar plays courtly arpeggios around a cyclical central motif based upon traditional folk structures. While the lyric speaks of tale-telling, the folk tradition is extant in Johnny’s chord structure that mirrors the Scottish standard ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ You can easily sing the Scottish melody over Marr’s A, E, F-sharp minor, D routine, and Johnny imposes a melancholy into this traditionally rousing, major key format. Notably, Johnny adds a ser
ies of major seventh and sixth notes into the phrasing – accents which were to become a trademark of his playing. The central lyrical and thematic motif of the song measures the movement from major to minor perfectly. If the tone rather than the content recalled Joy Division, Marr has also linked the song’s development to James Taylor’s gentle acoustic sing-along ‘Handy Man’ – a far cry from the rented rooms in Whalley Range, the childhood victims of Ian Brady and the pretty girls making graves found elsewhere on the album.
‘Reel Around The Fountain’ is one of the greatest debut album openers in rock history. When the first complete rhyme of the song – ‘told/old’ – falls onto the first minor third it is a wonderful moment. The lyric’s theme of a childhood debased drops suddenly onto this most telling note, suggesting much about the music that was to come from Marr and The Smiths over the years to come. Paul Carrack’s gentle, enigmatic contribution underpins the guitar phrasing subtly and perfectly too. Traditional structures are enlivened by delicate touches of harmonic and melodic detail, as closely fused to the lyrical content as is possible. The Smiths’ sound was born.
Johnny Marr Page 8
