Hunky Dory (Who Knew)

by Laurence Myers

  David and Angie once came to my flat in St John’s Wood. Angie gave us a small, mirrored duck that was sort of fashionable at the time, which was very sweet of her. David politely expressed an interest how we had done out the place and I showed him around whilst Angie chatted with Marsha. We had only lived there for a few months and I was naturally proud of our new home. David did say all the right things but I could tell that had I rolled back his sleeve I would have heard the laughter. I did not take offence; he would never warm to the middle-class decor of our home, no matter how chic we thought it was.

  David and Ken started recording at the beginning of July and were in and out of Trident until August. This was lengthy – I was used to producers like Mickie Most, who got a single and a B-side down in a three-hour session and usually only needed one more session to mix the tracks. But when I went to the studio I liked what I heard and I did not impose any budgetary restrictions.

  David booked Rick Wakeman, the piano virtuoso, then a session musician who would go on to be part of mega-band Yes. Although Rick was a fabulous musician, David wanted Dudley Moore, the film star who could easily have had a career as a pianist, to play piano on ‘Life On Mars’. This was a very commercial thought, but Dudley did not respond to Gem’s letter of invitation so the very fine piano you hear on the final version is Rick’s. Four of Dana Gillespie’s songs were recorded for her own album and she also did a version of Bowie’s ‘Andy Warhol’, but later told me she preferred lyrics with emotion and her recording didn’t work. David’s own take on it ended up on Hunky Dory. Dana didn’t reach her potential at the time but later developed into a fine blues singer.

  There was still little interest in David from record companies, although I was constantly in touch with the right people: no one was asking me about Bowie. His gigs were sparsely attended and I could tell from those I saw myself, in truth, that he was not particularly exciting. This is hard to believe considering the dynamism of his stage act in later times, but in June 1971, after David played the second ever Glastonbury Festival, he told his small audience, ‘I don’t do gigs any more because I got so pissed off with working and dying a death every time I worked.’ His offstage, gentle manner did not really change when he performed. David really exploded when he could hide behind a character. Ziggy of course was the most dramatic and remains the most iconic to this day. I firmly believe that had David not been so brilliant at reinventing himself he would never have achieved the almost god-like level of success that he did.

  David’s study of mime with Lindsay Kemp had taught him how to put on a mime face and Angie was certainly a huge influence on David’s look. It was, however, the brilliance of David to actually inhabit Ziggy and his later alter egos and deliver the quality of music that enabled him to make such an impact on the world. I also believe that David Jones, the boy from Beckenham, invented a superstar identity called David Bowie who he could call on to be his face to the outside world.

  In June, David and Mick Ronson played the first Glastonbury Festival organised by Michael Eavis on the fields of his farm. It was then, by contrast with the world-beating extravaganza it has become, an unambitious event with one stage, but it was still quite important and I was eager to know how it went for my artist. I had to wait until David and Defries came into the office the following day to learn how they had got on.

  The pair, along with Angie, Bob Grace and Dana, took the train to the nearest station to the site. They walked to the farm for miles along country lanes. David was due to go on at 7.30 p.m. but the organisation was lacking and he only took the stage at 5.30 a.m, by which time it had poured with rain, creating the unavoidable sea of mud for which the festival is still famous. Understandably there was a very small audience, most of whom were wet and cold – but David and Mick went down well. I think that one of the highlights was when Defries tripped and went sprawling in the mud, David and Bob Grace giggling together like naughty schoolboys. More seriously, Defries told me on his return that he was sure Bob was trying to steal David away from us, which I did not doubt. Bob had been very involved with David’s creative path and I am sure that he continued to stress how much more of a ‘music man’ he was. Jon Brewer has since told me that Bob Grace made a point of telling David that we were pursuing Stevie Wonder and would lose interest in David.

  Defries complained vociferously to Terry Ellis that Bob was trying to create a rift between David and us. Terry called to assure me that Bob was just doing his job as David’s music publisher. I expressed my doubts and reminded Terry of the law relating to ‘incitement to breach a valid contract’. Later, when Terry and I became good business friends, he admitted that my reminder was timely. Five years later, when David’s songwriting contract with Chrysalis was up, he did not renew. Under the original deal, Chrysalis retained 25 per cent of the copyright of the songs that David had written during the contractual term, so Chrysalis continued to enjoy a great income stream with no responsibility whatsoever. They took the chance, so good for them.

  Having signed a publishing deal that required David to secure commercial recordings, it was now even more important to make a record deal. We needed something to attract some interest from major record companies. The new material that David was writing was exciting and David and Ken mixed down tracks for a Gem promotional/sample album, seven songs performed by Bowie and five Bowie-produced tracks of Dana Gillespie. This was a very unusual step to take and, at considerable cost, we pressed five hundred copies that are known to collectors as BOWPROMO. The album was presented in a gatefold sleeve that had a pocket in which we put selected reviews and interviews.

  (A word about Hunky Dory test pressings and acetates. Research shows that the various acetates that Gem produced at the time are sometimes offered on eBay and other auction sites, fetching astoundingly high prices. A BOWPROMO was reportedly sold for ten thousand dollars. I no doubt had copies of them all cluttering up my office, which I would have thrown away when having the occasional tidy-up. Who knew? To add insult to injury, my son James recently gifted me with a replica copy of BOWPROMO that was released to mark Record Store Day in April 2017. It was a limited edition of fifteen thousand copies and my son paid fifty pounds for it. I have no idea how the releasing company got the rights to do this. It certainly was not from me. I should probably pursue them but I do not have the energy to take on issues that are not important to me. (It is, by the way, surprising how quickly old age happens.)

  We started to line up record companies by sending them the sampler acetates. There was definitely antipathy in the UK. Bowie had created a high expectation with ‘Space Oddity’ and the failure of The Man who Sold the World meant that most record companies in the UK wrote him off as a one-hit wonder. But ‘Space Oddity’ had done nothing in the USA and it was decided that we should look there for a company to sign David, where hopefully he would have no ‘previous’ and could be judged on his new material. My New York attorney, Normand Kurtz, arranged August meetings for Defries with RCA, CBS, United Artists and Columbia. I set up a meeting for him with Bell Records. Being pop-orientated, they were not really the right label for Bowie, but because of the already successful deal that I had with Bell for Macaulay and Leander productions, I felt Defries should at least speak to them. The quality of the tracks on the sampler, coupled with Defries’s unwavering faith in Bowie, attracted positive interest from everyone.

  A few people recommended RCA. They had bought Elvis in 1955 from Sam Phillips, who had first signed him to his Sun Records, a tiny label in Memphis. Elvis had stayed with RCA and Defries was particularly impressed by the staying power because he admired the way Colonel Parker managed Elvis. David felt the same because even though Elvis was now recording some really crap songs amongst his classics, he was in the DNA of every UK artist who ever picked up a rock’n’roll guitar.

  Dennis Katz was head of A&R at RCA and saw David Bowie as that weird transvestite guy who made ‘Space Oddity’, a record that had done well in the UK. He was a good A&R man and li
stened to the Gem sampler with care and without prejudice. Dennis enthused to Rocco Laginestra, head of RCA, who was not that taken with the material but supported Dennis. He had recently taken him on to find some interesting acts, and Bowie was nothing if not interesting. Rocco was aware that there was no desperation on the part of any other companies to sign David, and Mel Ilberman, his head of business affairs, was told to make a tough deal. He offered Gem $37,500 as an advance for each album and a royalty of 11 per cent of the retail price, excluding any taxes. Eight per cent would go to David, from which we would not deduct management commission, 1 per cent to producer Ken Scott and 2 per cent would be retained by Gem.

  When the Rolling Stones signed to Andrew Oldham’s company they were paid 6 per cent. Andrew Oldham used to deduct his management commission of 20 per cent, leaving the band about 5 per cent, which was shared between them. Reputedly, when The Beatles had signed to EMI a few years earlier, they were paid one old penny per single, also shared between them. Under my deal with David, he was paid about four pence per single. By any standards, David had a fair deal from Gem. No royalties were to be paid until RCA recouped its advances, which was a standard provision in all record deals.. It was a two-year deal for three albums, with options for RCA to extend with increased advances of $56,250 per album. David had committed to Gem for six years so I would be able to renegotiate with RCA after their term ended or negotiate a new deal with a different company. Clever me!

  The advances were not high by RCA’s usual standards, who were known to pay advances of a hundred thousand to two hundred thousand dollars for some American artists, but the royalty rates and lack of spurious deductions was fine, and David was keen to be with them. RCA also agreed to pay twenty thousand dollars for the Mercury albums that Gem now owned, approximately the amount Gem had paid for them. There was also an advance of $18,750, 50 per cent of the amount due on delivery of the next album (what would be Ziggy Stardust).

  All in all, Gem would receive a cheque for around seventy-five thousand dollars from RCA. Aside from the advance on the next album, the money would go towards recouping my initial outlay on Bowie. True to my credo, the albums were to revert back to Gem five years after the deal ended.

  About the time that Hunky Dory was finished, a play called Pork came from New York to London. It was based on conversations recorded by Andy Warhol in his New York studio, The Factory. The play was outrageous, and controversially pornographic. Andy Warhol was played by an actor called Tony Zanetta and the rest of the cast played other characters from Andy Warhol’s Factory cabal. Pork played at The Roundhouse, a cool venue in funky Chalk Farm, north London, down from Haverstock Hill and The Country Club, where David was performing with Dana Gillespie.

  One of the Pork company members had read the article in Rolling Stone magazine referring to David wearing a dress, so of course the entire company went to see him perform. It was love at first sight. David was invited to go to see Pork and a bond was established between all concerned. David and Angie went to see the play nearly every night but, despite the opportunity to see simulated masturbation on stage, I declined his offer to join them. David was hanging out with the Pork cast at El Sombrero most nights and he invited them to make themselves at home at my office in the day. Like-minded characters from the dark side or the enlightened side – depending on your point of view – seemed to be drawn to my offices, a corner of which became a mini-outpost of Andy Warhol’s Factory.

  25. STEVIE WONDER – AN INTERLUDE IN THE BOWIE STORY

  One of the people who frequently appeared at the Gem offices in early 1971 was Don Hunter. I cannot remember how he came to us but he was there a lot. He produced a band called Milkwood that we had signed to Gem for management. Maybe he brought Milkwood to us, I don’t remember. They did not have any great success, which is probably why I don’t remember.

  Don was an educated, rich, young white man from Minneapolis who had worked extensively in the studio with Stevie Wonder, co-writing and producing. I think that he was also employed by Berry Gordy, the head of Motown, to look after Stevie on the road in the UK. Don told us that, other than Diana Ross – who was Berry Gordy’s great love – Motown treated their artists really badly. Don was very close to Stevie, who, according to him, was deeply unhappy and was thinking about leaving Motown and moving to England.

  Stevie was part of a Motown revue that was touring the UK and was hankering after a state-of-the-art Sony music player, which unbelievably he could not afford to buy for himself. Don suggested that we buy it for him and he would bring him in to meet us and say thank you. In Don’s opinion we could then start to woo Stevie for management. I thought that this was highly unlikely, but Defries had spent time with Don and assured me that they were really close.

  We bought the gift and – to my great surprise – Don brought Stevie up to the office. Defries and I declared ourselves to be fans, which was not difficult because who wasn’t? That first meeting was particularly memorable because Stevie felt our faces. He loved Defries’s afro hair and we chatted about what we were doing. The fact that I had been involved with the Rolling Stones seemed to impress him and he left saying he would come and meet with us again. Don had obviously been selling us hard because Stevie did return. He told us he had made ‘Fingertips’, his first hit for Motown, in 1963, when he was about eight years old. Since then his hits included ‘Uptight (Everything’s Alright)’, ‘For Once in my Life’ and ‘My Cherie Amour’. He had done many tours but astonishingly he had no money, was living in a very modest house in Detroit and had no idea how much, if anything, he had coming to him in the future from the trust that Motown told him had been set up for him. He was twenty years old.

  Stevie said that he wanted to get away from Motown and Berry Gordy and he felt that the only way he could do this was to move away from the USA. Don had told him that if he signed with us Don would move to London to look after him, and Stevie agreed. As much as I understood the logic behind Stevie’s motives, I still did not believe that it would actually happen. I told him that I wanted him to call Berry Gordy there and then and tell him of his intentions. He made the call in private while Defries, Don and I waited nervously. He came out of the room in tears. He told us that Berry had told him that he was like a son to him and he would never stand in his way, whatever he wanted to do.

  I was still unsure and got Music Week, the bible of the UK music business, to run an article saying that Stevie Wonder was coming to live in London and was signing to Gem for management. I sat back waiting for a call from Motown’s lawyers or a visit from two large gentlemen carrying baseball bats but there was no reaction whatsoever. There was no question, legally, that Stevie was free to leave Motown. He had been signed when he was blind and underage. He was going to be twenty-one in May and could disavow his Motown contracts with absolute certainty. First he would be touring the US and we made plans to take over his management on the day of his birthday. Defries sent Motown the appropriate paperwork, advising them of our plans and yet again there was no response. By the time it had gone out Stevie was in the middle of his tour and there were practical issues to deal with. We wanted to ensure continuity and put money into an American bank account so that there would be no problems when we took over.

  Don recommended a Minneapolis-based lawyer to advise Stevie on the new contract, away from the gossip of New York or Los Angeles. The details were finalised and the contract had to be signed. Stevie told us that on his actual birthday he had been given a day off from the tour and was going home to Detroit for a big party organised by Syreeta, his wife. Lots of his friends from Motown would be there and he would feel uncomfortable if we were there too. We, of course, understood and flew to Minneapolis on the day after his birthday to sign our copy of the contract. The lawyer was then going to meet with Stevie and get his thumbprint of approval.

  Stevie, who had enjoyed his generous one-day-off, was back in New York, staying with his crew at The Hilton. We called the hotel and asked to be put through to
the room in the assumed name under which he was registered. A voice, not Stevie’s, answered abruptly. Stevie was not there. The phone was put down. Don had the room numbers of various crew who were staying at the hotel. He called them one by one and each put the phone down on him. We called Syreeta who said, ‘I can’t talk about it,’ and she too put the phone down. It was obvious to me that Stevie had been ‘got to’ by Motown at his party the night before and Gem were no longer going to be managing Stevie Wonder. Defries and Don wanted to fly to New York but I was not going to incur any more expense in chasing what I knew was a lost cause. Sure enough, a few weeks later there was a fullpage ad in Billboard magazine in Stevie Wonder’s name stating, ‘Motown is the place for me.’

  Stevie had gone to Joe Vigoda, a legendary American music-business lawyer who was one of the great characters of his era. He looked like he was dressed by a charity shop and carried his office around in a beat-up old rucksack. He once gave me all of his contact phone numbers; homes and offices in Los Angeles, New York, and other places of interest around America. He took a full page of my Filofax (remember them?). I have no doubt Joe negotiated a fair deal for Stevie to stay with Motown, part of it being a reputed thirteen-million-dollar advance on signing. I’m sure that Joe also secured a bigger financial interest in Stevie’s past success and a degree of ownership, which of course we could never do if we had taken him to Gem, a different company. I never really blamed Stevie for what he did, although because of him I missed seeing Arsenal winning the double, a very rare feat in football, and there was a very brief moment when I wished he’d go temporarily deaf, just in one ear.