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How NOT to Make It in the Pop World (diary of an almost has-been)
The misconceptions surrounding the workings of the pop industry are many and varied; one misguided belief chief among them is that if you've strutted your stuff on "Top of the Pops" you must be rolling in it! Nothing could be further from the truth. I am living proof of that. I am one of those unfortunate journeymen of pop, always on the periphery, never quite hitting the pay dirt.
The industry exists by allowing gullible kids to believe the myth. The dream machine that feeds on it's own legend.
Throughout my misguided quest for unlimited world wide fame and fortune, I have strutted my stuff with two bands on Top of the Pops
"Black Gorilla" in 1977 and "Fun Boy Three" in 1982.
There is NO Lear jet in my driveway!
During twenty-five years in the fairyland that is the pop world, I can point to over forty record releases. I have also worked / recorded for many major and independent record labels and signed megabucks recording / publishing deals associating with world-name pop icons and producers.
There is NO Lamborghini in my driveway.
This is the sorry tale of my stroll through the labyrinth of dreams that is the pop industry. Answer this? What makes an outwardly level headed chap pull on leather trousers and bare his soul on stage in front of thousands of screaming pre-pubescent females? I can point to a few pivotal points. I remember as an eight year old in 1964 watching The Kinks on Top of the Pops performing You really got me. Still the hairs on the back of my neck bristle on hearing those opening chords. I pleaded with my mum to let me have a pair of Cuban heeled boots, the kind favoured by another hero of mine John Lennon. I begged her to let me discard my Bryl-creem plastered short back 'n' sides haircut for a P J Proby. I didn't get the boots and I didn't get the pony tail!
The sixties were good. The Brits were taking on the pop world and winning. England even won a world cup. Could it get better than that?
As a kid I was in a band. We were fuelled by Mersey fever and inspired by the sixties scene. We slaughtered Beatles covers in the street banging cardboard boxes for drums. I saved my pocket money to buy a guitar; it cost me a £2 pounds 11 shillings and sixpence. I never could play it.
In 1972 I was blown away at a Roxy Music concert at the De Montfort Hall in Leicester. That night a spellbound nineteen-year-old was introduced to the very wonderful saxophone playing of Andy Mackay. I was smitten. I desperately wanted to be that cool sax player who received such adulation that night.
Another stunning night was in 1973 at a Faces gig at the Birmingham Odeon; it was the week after the terrible IRA Birmingham pub bombings. They were awesome. Surely one of the best ever "GOOD TIME" rock n roll bands.
In my time in pop I achieved almost everything apart from enjoying a hit in my own right. I played on other people's hits, undertook major tours, and performed on top-flight television and radio shows. One journalist once described my failure to make it with the line,
"Like a goal line clearance, in the last minute of a play off final at Wembley." There is no such thing as overnight success. People automatically assume that when band scores a first hit, they are newcomers. What they fail to see are the years of graft, and endeavour to get up and running.
Most books on this subject focus on people that have achieved mega star status, never on the poor stiffs like me, who have come so agonisingly close.
CHAPTERS
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How NOT to Make It in the Pop World (diary of an almost has-been).
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