Hunky Dory (Who Knew)

by Laurence Myers

  I had to go through the accounts with each of the Stones to clarify certain expenditure. Mick, Charlie and Brian were very vague but Bill Wyman had kept meticulous records, down to how much of the room service charges were for him in the room he shared with Brian. Bill was always the keeper of records and he never threw anything away. His book Stone Alone is full of minutiae of his life with the Stones, and is well worth reading.

  There was no tax liability but the man from the revenue demanded a meeting, which was quite unusual for such a small turnover. I duly attended the tax office in Soho Square on crutches, having damaged my ankle on a trampoline in the garden of Mickie’s new house in Totteridge. I overplayed my limp, hoping that sympathy for my plight would help me in the meeting. The man from the revenue showed no concern whatsoever about my condition but expressed great interest about an item of cash disbursement described as ‘sundries’. It was a very small amount and it became clear I was only there because the young man from Her Majesty’s inspector of taxes was clearly a Stones fan. I told him that the cash was used by the band to buy tickets to their own performances – to give to girl fans who would scream. I had made this up, but I swore the guy to secrecy and he passed the accounts, no doubt happily believing that he was in on a Rolling Stones secret.

  The bank account for the tour had all of the Stones as signatories. In those days, banks returned cheques that had been issued on the account. Once I completed the audit there was no need to keep them so, in accordance with standard practice, I threw them out. Can you imagine what a cheque signed by all of the Rolling Stones would fetch at a memorabilia auction today? Who knew?

  During the time that the Stones were run out of the Goodman Myers offices, Allen Klein seldom visited England. He spent his time and energy berating London Records for not doing a better job, and berating concert promoters for not treating the Stones as superstars. It was working. Les Perrin, an established UK PR person, dealt with the considerable media issues. The Beatles were perceived as the ‘good boys’ and the Stones were cast as the ‘bad boys’ and Les, following a pattern set by Andrew Oldham, did a brilliant job maintaining the Stones’ image as being rebellious and anarchic on both sides of the Atlantic and beyond. Parents disapproved, so of course the kids loved them.

  The Stones were technically rich but Allen was holding their money. When he received the big advance from Decca, he opened American bank accounts in the boys’ names, depositing fifty thousand dollars for each them. There were tax implications if they brought the money into the UK and exchange control regulations, which made it illegal to have bank accounts abroad. Easton had sued the Stones and Allen, tying up pipeline royalties from Decca, so one way or another the Stones had yet to directly benefit from their impressive new deals.

  I would talk to Allen often, and warned him that his lack of attention to the financial needs of the London office was causing great resentment. His response was always words to the effect of ‘I’m busy making the Rolling Stones bigger than The Beatles. I’ll deal with these little problems later.’ the Stones’ financial needs were real. Assured by Allen that they were now rich, the boys started to spend money but, as they could not bring any funds back to the UK that Allen had deposited for them in their American bank accounts, they were as good as broke. The UK exchange control regulators attacked the Stones for holding money abroad, and I had to get them out of trouble by explaining that the accounts were opened in their names but the signatory was Allen Klein. As a consequence, they were then obliged to bring the money over to the UK.

  In the meantime, Allen had given vague assurances that if they needed money he would get it to them. the Stones office had to deal with calls for money from the boys as well as from general creditors. The fastest form of international communication was the telex machine. You could dial up any telex number and anything typed your end would instantly appear on the machine at the other end of the line. With a secretary manning each machine it was possible to have ‘conversations’. Goodman Myers had such a device and Stan Blackburn, the Stones’ long-time bookkeeper, was constantly sending telex messages to Allen’s office in New York, asking for money. Allen foolishly did not even acknowledge the requests. Eventually I sent a telex to Allen saying, ‘Does my telex have bad breath?’ which prompted him to call me. I explained the situation, and he started to take the requests more seriously.

  When Allen did concentrate on keeping the Stones happy, he did so with style. I was in New York in August 1965 when The Beatles played Shea stadium, a legendary concert. Allen decided that we should take the Stones to see the show and spent hours trying to get permission for our party to arrive by helicopters and have seats in the dugout. This could not happen so we did not go at all.

  Determined to take some public attention away from The Beatles – a lost cause if ever there was one – he rented a huge boat and took the Stones on a cruise down the Hudson River and I was lucky enough to still be in town so I joined them. Whenever we passed another boat Andrew Oldham stood at the prow, his long hair streaming in the wind, preaching to anyone that could hear him that he was Jesus and that this was how He had decided to make His second coming. My great memory was the Stones’ non-stop playing and replaying of Wilson Picket’s recent release, ‘In The Midnight Hour’. They just loved that record, as did I.

  After the Stones set up their own offices in Maddox Street I frequently went there to discuss their affairs. Mick had set up a small teepee tent in the middle of the office, which he used when he needed to be shut out from the general hubbub. Jo Bergman, a powerhouse of a lady who was by now running the Stones’ office, told me that he spent hours in there talking to a young American guy who had walked from Heathrow airport into London to see him. The young man, who clearly had mental issues, believed that Mick was some sort of messiah. Mick showed extraordinary patience and compassion in dealing with such people. He was also patient with intrusive fans. I once had to have a meeting with him while he was waiting for a plane at what is now Kennedy airport. I was not travelling, so we could not go to a private lounge. We found a quiet table in the public area and settled down to discuss some important matters. A drunk American redneck came over to us and rudely interrupted us.

  ‘Hey, Mick, my girlfriend wants your autograph.’

  Mick was in mid-sentence and politely held up his hand in a ‘give me just a moment’ gesture. The guy wasn’t having that. ‘I don’t even know why she likes your shitty music. You too big for your fans?’

  Mick did not say a word. He signed the piece of paper that this rude pig had stuck under his nose. The rude pig walked away without a thank-you, and Mick carried on with his conversation. When I expressed my surprise, he shrugged and said, ‘It happens all the time. If I react, there could be a fight and it won’t be that arsehole’s name that makes the headlines.’

  One of the things on the agenda was a pension plan. Mick had considered going into the insurance business when he left the London School of Economics. Ellis, my partner, had a good connection with a blue-blood firm of insurance brokers and Mick actually asked Ellis if he could effect an introduction ‘just in case’. Ellis would of course have been delighted to do so, but Mick soon created his own insurance policy via his talent, and the introduction never took place. Mick is a very smart man, which is why he is still singing rock’n’roll in his seventies.

  In February 1967, following an anonymous tip-off, the police – armed with a search warrant – raided Keith Richards’ home Redlands in West Sussex. Mick and Marianne Faithfull and some other friends were Keith’s houseguests. George Harrison and his then-girlfriend Pattie Boyd had popped in but left before the police arrived. It was a major raid with carloads of coppers. Mick and Keith were very polite and cooperative. Marianne, who was upstairs at the time of the raid, appeared at the top of the stairs covered in a rug, which she dropped revealing her naked body shouting, ‘Search me!’

  The police found four amphetamine tablets – which actually belonged to Marianne – and s
ome hash in the possession of a friend known as Acid King David. Mick, ever the gentleman, claimed that the tablets were his to protect Marianne. In March, Mick and Keith were informed that they would be charged with offences against the Dangerous Drugs Act. I went with Allen and a small army of lawyers to the Chichester court, where the charges were put to them. They were released on bail pending trial and I have a photograph on my wall of a very young-looking me, peering over the shoulders of Mick and Keith, laughing on the steps of the court.

  The offences were not serious but Allen and I did not take the charges lightly. If the boys were found guilty of drug charges it could affect their entry into the United States. It was clear that the Stones were going to be constant targets for the police, and indeed Brian Jones’ flat was raided on the evening of the day they were charged. Jagger and Richards seemed to think that it was all a hoot, but they followed Allen’s advice and went abroad to avoid being hounded by the press until they were obliged to appear before a Chichester judge.

  On the 27 June Mick was found guilty of possession of four amphetamine tablets and a day later Keith was found guilty of allowing cannabis to be smoked on his property. They were both sent in handcuffs to Lewes jail to each serve a month’s sentence. Released on bail the next day, they appealed and Keith’s sentence of one year in jail was overturned. Mick’s sentence of three months was also reduced to a conditional discharge. There was a public outcry of support for Mick and Keith. Even The Times weighed in, with illustrious editor William Rees-Mogg writing an eloquent leader column in their defence, headed ‘Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?’ Brian was also sentenced to jail but on appeal was fined a thousand pounds and ordered to seek professional help.

  The Stones were now trophy targets for police forces all over the world. Keith’s excellent autobiography Life is, amongst other things, a fascinating record of the ingenious ways he managed to get his heroin as he toured the USA, in spite of the district attorney of each state being determined to be the hero who caught him. He makes the interesting observation that he survived the drug itself because he was rich enough to buy only the purest-quality heroin and cocaine. In spite of, or maybe because of, my proximity to serious drug-takers I have never been tempted to try it and I have no idea if there is any truth in his claim.

  Because I was a sympathetic ear, Brian Jones would sometimes come in to see me. He was now very aware that he was no longer the leader of the Rolling Stones, nor was it musically the band that he had started. Brian was a true blues fan and wanted to play the music of his heroes. His relationship with the rest of the band was not helped when it was discovered that he had made a secret deal with Easton/Oldham to get five pounds a week more than the other band members when they had first signed with them for management. Brian had started a blues band with the still semi-pro Mick and Keith and, from his point of view, the deal he had signed with Oldham and Eastman led to their ultimate success. Without him there would never have been the Rolling Stones, but he was never invited to write a song for the band and now he was not even wanted at recording sessions.

  Brian spoke very quietly and would ramble on, often incoherently, about what he perceived was the injustice heaped on him by the world in general and by Mick and Keith in particular. Keith had stolen Anita Pallenberg, his girlfriend. (Keith famously commented, ‘Shit happens in the back of a limousine.’) I am not sure why Brian confided his woes in me but I suspect that he did so with anyone who was prepared to listen. Even though his woeful condition was self-induced, I felt very sorry for him.

  The housekeeper at Brian’s home at Crotchford Farm had my home number as one of the people to call in the case of an emergency. On 3 July 1969 I got an early-morning call from her to tell me that Brian had drowned in his swimming pool. It was the middle of the night in New York, but I called Allen to tell him the news and he was extremely distressed. I was personally very saddened by Brian’s death. He was only twenty-seven years old and it seemed to me that there had been little joy in his life, other than his music, and even that had been tainted when the purist blues band that he started was taken in a more commercial direction by Mick and Keith. There was no indication if Brian’s death was an accident or suicide, and much has been written since. I personally believe that his death – like that of so many of his contemporaries – was due to the mind-altering drugs that were too fashionable and too freely available to those who could afford them in the sixties.

  Apart from my professional relationship with the Rolling Stones, I am to this day a fan. They are, in my view, the greatest rock’n’roll band ever. Mick is astonishingly fit and contrary to that discussion that we had some fifty years ago, he is still singing rock’n’roll. Many of their current following were not even born when the Stones had the big hits that the fans demand to hear today.

  18. RUPERT LOEWENSTEIN COMES ON THE SCENE AND THE STONES BREAK WITH KLEIN

  On the day that Brian Jones died in July 1969, Mick went to a white ball at the Holland Park home of Prince Rupert Loewenstein. Antique dealer Chris Gibbs had introduced them in 1968. Chris thought that Rupert might be of use to sort out Mick’s money affairs and Rupert then met with Mick a few times to generally discuss this possibility.

  As can be deduced from his full title, Rupert Louis Ferdinand Frederick Constantine Lofredo Leopold Herbert Maximilian Hubert John Henry zu Löwenstein-Wertheim-Freudenberg, Count of Loewenstein-Scharffeneck, was an aristocrat, from minor Bavarian royalty. He was educated in England and was a partner in Leopold Joseph & Sons, a prestigious boutique merchant bank.

  Mick had become disenchanted with Allen’s obsession with The Beatles and his apparent neglect of Stones’ business, and appointed Rupert as advisor to himself and the band. Rupert and his wife Josephine were fixtures in the upper echelons of society and introduced Mick and Marianne to their world, which Mick rather enjoyed. Mick now became familiar with Antibes, Mustique, St Barths and other watering holes that were once the exclusive haunts of the beau monde. Now these places are frequented by tattooed footballers, girls called Tracy and Cheryl, and even people like me.

  Rupert kicked out the UK and American lawyers that had been put in place by Allen and brought in a new team of his own, choosing those who would help him analyse and review the band’s legal affairs. I escaped the cull and worked closely with Mrs Stacey, Theodore Goddard’s highly regarded tax lawyer, helping her restructure the Stones’ tax affairs. The rate for high earners was still about 90 per cent and Mrs. Stacey advised the Stones that they should become non-resident, which they achieved by moving residencies to the south of France.

  I got on well with Prince Rupert. The only Prince I had known before was Prince Monolulu, a black racing tipster who used to go to race meetings dressed in exotic Zulu chief garb shouting, ‘I got an ’orse.’ On Sundays he used to try to sell his tips at the Petticoat Lane market where I had my market stall and he occasionally bought sweets from me. Keeping a straight face, I once asked Rupert if he knew Prince Monolulu. He searched his memory for African aristocracy that he had known and said he did not. Before he became involved with Mick Jagger, Rupert was only interested in classical music but he very quickly became enamoured with rock and pop. He sent me demo tapes of a band called Gypsy and I promised to go to their next gig. Some days later my secretary handed me a priceless message that said, ‘Gypsy are playing for the Prince tonight.’ It was like something out of a Franz Lehár operetta: I did not go to the gig, but I kept the piece of paper for years.

  I warned Allen that Rupert was amassing forces against him, but he did not seem to be unduly perturbed. The way Allen had structured his deals with the Stones’ recordings meant that he did not need the goodwill of Mick Jagger or any of the Stones for ABKCO to continue to benefit from their recordings. the Stones’ share of income had not changed, but by buying out Oldham and Easton, ABKCO effectively received 50 per cent of the income on every record sold. The three-year deals that Allen negotiated with Decca were about to run out and I told Allen that Pri
nce Rupert’s influence was becoming stronger and the Stones might look to him to negotiate a new deal. Allen’s ego was his downfall. He was sure that all he needed to do was spend time with Mick to reclaim his loyalty. He tried, but it was too late. the Stones appointed Rupert as their new manager. Allen went into in denial, but as much as he tried to convince himself to the contrary, he was out.

  Rupert and Allen both reached for their legal guns. They ultimately came to a preliminary settlement but there was an orgy of lawsuits between Allen and the Stones. As they say in the biz, ‘Where there’s a hit, there’s a writ,’ and here there were lots of hits, so the litigation went on for twenty years.

  Allen’s reign was the golden years for Stones music, producing classic hits like ‘The Last Time’, ‘Paint It Black’, ‘Ruby Tuesday’ and ‘Satisfaction’. Stones fans still demand to hear these old hits and none of the records that Jagger made as a solo artist have had any real success. Allen’s son Jody now presides over ABKCO on behalf of the Klein family and the money still rolls in.

  Prince Rupert negotiated the new deal with Decca, which – with Allen out of the way – gave the Stones all of the royalties. In America he negotiated a profitable new deal for future recordings with Ahmet Ertegun, the charismatic head of Atlantic Records. I have written earlier about my close relationship with American publisher Freddy Bienstock. Freddy’s wife Miriam, a formidable woman who became a good friend of my own wife, started Atlantic Records with Ahmet. She had introduced me to him some years earlier and I got to know him and his brother Nesuhi quite well. Rupert had asked me to advise him in his negotiations with Ahmet, but I felt that helping move them to another record company was disloyal to Allen who was still a close friend, so I diplomatically declined his request.

  Allen broke the Stones in America and his deals made them financially secure. Rupert made them personally very rich. He successfully guided all aspects of the Stones’ careers until 2007, since which time Mick has effectively managed the band. the Stones’ live performances became huge money-makers, and even at an age when they are all entitled to a bus pass, their world tours gross about half a billion dollars. It’s a long way from the few thousand pounds from their UK tours in the early sixties, and a long time since that meeting at Kennedy airport when Mick said to me ‘After all, Laurence, I’m not going to be singing rock’n’roll when I’m sixty.’