Hold on. That’s actually a truth. After my departure, Noel said that I had a fight with Liam in Paris, and that this contributed to my exit from the band. Not true. I never had any altercation at all with Liam. Never would. Noel knows exactly what happened in Paris.
And then, of course, he claimed that I simply wasn’t a good enough drummer. As I see it, if musicianship had been an issue, then Noel would have sacked the whole band, including himself. Jesus, Guigs didn’t even record on the album. Part of the reason I left the band was a bit more personal.
My demise came in stages.
Firstly and most importantly, came my clash with Noel over the money fronted to us by Alan McGee and Creation. Not a good time for me to argue with Noel, who had already begun the change from Old to New. Plus, the contract that I had signed gave him the power to sack me.
And then there was my threat on a dark Parisian stage after months of arguments between us. That threat gave him one of the reasons to sack me.
Would I change the way I acted in these situations, with hindsight? It is now as it was then. Right is right, even if everyone is against it, and wrong is wrong, even if everyone is for it.
But do I regret the way it all ended? Of course. I had strived to achieve everything I had aimed for all those years ago, but I didn’t get to enjoy it for long. It was a sorry situation that led to the end of friendships that should have lasted a lifetime. I had tried to appease Noel on numerous occasions, but it just didn’t work.
Don’t get me wrong. We all have flaws. What Noel also possesses, though, is an immense talent as a songwriter. The first two albums have left him with a legacy of beautifully crafted pop anthems that nearly everyone in the land can sing along to. His self-belief was always a major driving force in his life, and for that I give him credit.
I think what I found most tragic was the way McGuigan and Bonehead reacted. After Noel effectively took control of the band at the signing of the record contract, those who were aware of the situation seemed to change their behaviour. Bonehead would always stand up to Noel before this point. After the signing, if they did disagree, which didn’t happen often, Bonehead always seemed to hold back on his reactions. He was wary.
If Noel had an issue with me, I got the impression that McGuigan would jump on it too. Some of us are leaders, some are followers, I guess.
I also find it funny how Noel mocks Liam’s unhinged behaviour; then I think it’s tragic. That attitude was typical of the Liam that Noel had encouraged all those years ago. Noel knew the media were intoxicated with the snorting, aggressive, working-class hero that Liam was. Perhaps all Liam wanted was acknowledgement from Noel, to hear ‘I couldn’t have done it without you’ just once. But with Noel, everybody has their time. Even his brother.
As for Liam, I truly believe the split from Noel will serve him well. Noel has played his part in shaping Liam, so it will be interesting to see what happens now he is out loose on his own. Five years, I reckon, and they’ll be back together. I don’t think they can help themselves. Liam still holds true to those values and beliefs he started with. For all his arrogance and attitude, he has a generosity and dignity that those around him truly appreciate. He’s not perfect, but he’s honest. And he’s real.
When I was asked to write this book, I decided to read a couple of the authorised Oasis books already published. I had never read one before. I guess any uncertainty I had about completing my chronicles quickly vanished. The level of hate dished my way by Noel and McGuigan came as a real surprise. I thought they might have got over it all by now. Although Noel’s take on things was amusing, I particularly enjoyed McGuigan’s recollections of the days when he was the most popular guy around. An all-round sportsman. Tasty on the cobbles. Always a smile and a wink for the ladies. Not too sure whose days he was remembering, though. I was also rather saddened to see him threaten to ‘stab me in the gut’ in one book.
JUNE 2010. SLIEVE BLOOM MOUNTAINS, IRELAND
I’m sitting on a hill by the foot of the Slieve Bloom Mountains. It is my hill. In the field below, chasing the sheep, is my six-year-old son, Oliver. Oliver is my second and final child. Soon he will be old enough to go up the mountain to catch rabbits, as I did all those years before.
I feel I have found my final stop. My days travelling this big and beautiful world of ours are nearing an end. I suppose I have achieved what I had aimed for all those years ago: I lived my life in the city and I found my easy way out.
The sun bakes the fields below as a tractor slowly trundles along in the distance. Young Oliver is down to his underpants. The joys of youth, still simple and easily achievable.
That Old Manchester seems like another life today. A different time and a different place. I now live my life between here and modern Manchester. For the last seven years I have lived with, and loved, a little old hippie named Sue. She is a daily reminder for me to smile. My daughter is 21 years of age. I still live my life with the same values that my parents taught me, and with that I sit proud.
I have long put the anger and frustration about what really happened with the band behind me and I haven’t spoken to Noel for a long time. BigUn tells me that he has recaptured some of his old spark since he stopped taking drugs. If that is the case, then I wish him luck. The old Noel was a genuinely good lad; maybe the new Noel had just been a cocaine-powered creation. If that is so, I guess it makes my time in the band even more unfortunate.
I have enjoyed my life immensely and I do hope my story shows that. The last three months of the band and my exit were the low points of my last 40 years, so it has been quite difficult to write about. But it has also been entertaining. I have squealed with laughter at some of the memories recollected, and I hope you have too.
I pick up young Oliver in my arms and hug him. He feels warm. I put him down and we walk hand in hand down the hill back towards the village. I squint in the afternoon sun and smile. We’re off to the old cottage where I had spent part of my own childhood. As we near it, we stop and watch as the local villagers arrive with their fiddles and guitars. Behind the cottage there still sits a beaten and weathered caravan. And in that caravan, there still sits an old set of red drums.
Live Forever. Tony.
APPENDIX 1
THE PERFECT BEAT
This section is where I get one back for the drummer. The little man of the band. The bottom of the musical food chain. The easy way out for guitarists all over the world.
I have mentioned how, at an early age, I was transfixed by that drummer in the Boys’ Brigade. He was the musician who first prompted me to pick up a set of sticks, but there were a host of other musicians whose influence inspired and drove me to continue. I’ll tell you about my top three drummers shortly, but before I do I would like to mention a few of the greats who didn’t make my final three.
Although it pains me, there is no room for Hal Blaine. If the only record Hal Blaine had ever played on was ‘Be My Baby’, that would be enough to regard him as a legend. Hal Blaine didn’t just play on one great record, though; he played on over 30 No.1s, for starters. But as I say there is no room for Hal.
Another drummer who hasn’t made my final three, but can’t go unmentioned, is Reni from The Stone Roses. Years ago I had dozens of Roses bootlegs – many of them were redeemed purely by Reni’s liquid pulse, which tied not just songs but whole sets together. His laconic style, typified by an off-beat shuffle and perfectly placed fills, and played on a minimal three-piece kit, was always funky, always soulful, and seldom egotistical. Capable of delivering backing vocals as accomplished as anyone, there has never been, in my humble opinion, a British ‘indie’ drummer who even approached to his skills.
The final two sticksmen I would like to mention before counting down to my three greatest are Larry Mullen, Jr and Ginger Baker. Mullen for his style, which is subtle: a balanced backdrop to Bono’s broad histrionics. Larry Mullen once said ‘simple is best’, which is a statement I agree with wholeheartedly; it’s the basis upon
which U2 have built their varied career. His style moves seamlessly from post-punk to stadium rock with ease.
And then we have Peter ‘Ginger’ Baker, a red-haired Londoner and as a jazz drummer trapped inside the body of a blues rocker. He replaced Charlie Watts in Alexis Corner’s Blues Inc. in 1962, and through the Graham Bond Organisation, Cream, and Blind Faith, made a habit of sneaking in jazzy flashes that rock audiences could understand into enormously powerful sets. His remarkable dexterity gave him a stamina and variety worthy of two ordinary drummers, and with ‘Toad’, he developed the first extended drum solo on a rock record. Not bad for a ginger.
And so to the three drummers who have been the biggest influence on me, in descending order:
NUMBER 3
Steve White
And coming in at number three we’ve got another Londoner, but no red hair this time. Steve is the older brother and inspiration to Alan White, who replaced me in the Oasis chair. He was born in Bermondsey, south London, and has lived south of the river all his life. Steve began to show an interest in drumming with a snare drum that was given to him by an uncle at the age of eight. Aged 10, Steve began to learn simple side-drums parts as a member of the drum corps of his local Boys’ Brigade company. I wonder if he ever cracked an inquisitive kid round the head with his sticks?
He worked hard and progressed quickly, inspired by the skill and playing of drummers such as Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa. At the age of 12, and accompanied by his long-suffering and supportive dad, Steve saw his first truly great drummer play live on a Friday night at Ronnie Scott’s club in Soho, London. The sticksman in question was jazz legend Louie Bellson who, among other notable achievements, is regarded as the first drummer to have used two bass drums. From that point Steve was totally hooked, practising and playing at every opportunity.
Dennis Monday of Polydor Records called to ask Steve if he was interested in going for a try-out with another band, whom he did not name at the time. Steve gave it a go and seemed to strike a chord with the band’s singer songwriter Paul Weller. He was duly invited to come and play with The Style Council on a David ‘Kid’ Jensen show on Radio One.
A few weeks later, he found himself driving to Paris in a transit van to record the band’s new record, the A Paris EP, which contained the classics ‘Long Hot Summer’ and ‘Paris Match’.
An almost constant stream of hits and worldwide touring followed, pretty much uninterrupted, until 1989. In 1985, Steve became the youngest performer to appear on stage at the legendary Live Aid Concert at Wembley.
Steve went on to play with such artists as Working Week, Galliano, The Young Disciples, The James Taylor Quartet and Ian Dury.
Steve also found himself filling in for younger brother Alan in the hot seat for Oasis on the band’s American tour with The Black Crowes.
Steve has now launched a successful career as an educator, both as an in-demand personal teacher and motivator and as a drum set clinician.
NUMBER 2
John ‘Bonzo’ Bonham
John Bonham was born in Redditch, in the Midlands countryside of Worcestershire, on 31 May 1948. He got his first snare drum aged 10, a present from his mum. Six years later, in 1964, he joined his first semi-pro band, Terry Webb and the Spiders; a year later, he joined his second outfit, A Way of Life. That same year he met Pat Phillips at a dance near his home in Kidderminster. At the age of 17, they got hitched.
The band became inactive and Bonham, with a new wife to support, had to either make a go of drumming financially or quit. (I can relate to those circumstances.) He had met a young singer called Robert Plant a couple of years earlier, who now needed a drummer. Bonham fitted the bill I love the fact that Bonham was completely self-taught as a drummer. Despite this fact, or maybe because of it, his drumming, the power and the volume, rapidly became known around the Midlands. After finally forming Led Zeppellin with his friend Robert Plant and Jimmy Page he reall hit the big time.
Bonham’s powerful, hard-hitting drumming soon became one of the band’s signatures. He favoured Ludwig drums throughout his career and used ‘trees’, the longest and heaviest sticks available. He regularly performed Led Zeppelin solos with his bare hands too, to get a tone out of the drums that couldn’t be achieved with sticks. I found him awe-inspiring. They broke the mould when they made him.
One thing that had always struck me about Bonham was his athleticism. He would lean back and gives those things a proper pounding. What a reaction I would have got from Noel if I’d started apeing John Bonham…
At a Nuremberg show on 27 June 1980, during a European tour, Bonham fell off his drum stool and collapsed after the third song, a warning, perhaps, of what was to come. On 5 September 1980, the band announced a US tour for October. Tickets sold like hot cakes and expectations were high. But it was not to be. Ten days after the announcement of the tour dates, the band members gathered at Jimmy Page’s new mansion on the banks of the River Thames near Windsor for rehearsals. On 24 September, Bonzo was chauffeured to Page’s. He had reportedly quit doing heroin, but was taking anti-despressants. En route, he stopped at a pub and downed four quadruple vodkas. During the rehearsal, his drinking continued, though this was not unusual for him. Around midnight, he passed out on a sofa and was helped to a bedroom. He was left lying on his side, propped up with pillows, with the lights turned out.
Bonzo still hadn’t appeared by the next afternoon, so an assistant went in to wake him and found him dead. The ambulance was called, but John Bonham, aged 32, had died several hours earlier and was far beyond resuscitation.
Weeks later, at the coroner’s inquest, it emerged that in the 24 hours before he died, Bonham had drunk 40 measures of vodka. The death was ruled as accidental. After a cremation, his remains were interred on 12 October 1980 at Rushock parish churchyard, near the Old Hyde farm.
On 4 December 1980, the band announced that ‘The loss of our dear friend and the deep respect we have for his family, together with the sense of undivided harmony felt by ourselves and our manager, have led us to decide that we could not continue as we were.’ Led Zeppelin ceased to be. I have nothing but pure, undiluted respect.
NUMBER 1
Gene Krupa
Years ago, I was watching an old film with my dad. It told the story of Glenn Miller, a popular band leader during World War II. The band in the movie had just performed a song called ‘Basin Street Blues’ and I sat transfixed by the drummer. His name was Gene Krupa.
Unless you are a drumming enthusiast you probably haven’t heard of him. But that was not always the way. At one time, everyone knew Gene Krupa. He inspired both Steve White and John Bonham, as well as countless other great drummers. He changed the drum into an instrument rather than a counting device. Not a bad testament.
Gene Krupa was born in Chicago, Illinois, on 15 January 1909, the youngest of Bartlomiej and Anna Krupa’s nine children. His father died when Gene was very young and his mother worked as a milliner to support the family. All of the children had to start working while young, and Gene did so aged 11. He started out playing sax in grade school but took up drums, also at the age of 11, since they were the cheapest item in the music store where he and his brother worked. He reflected in later years, ‘I used to look in their wholesale catalogue for a musical instrument – piano, trombone, cornet – I didn’t care what it was as long as it was an instrument. The cheapest item was the drums, 16 beans, I think, for a set of Japanese drums; a great high, wide bass drum, with a brass cymbal on it, a wood block and a snare drum.’
His parents were very religious and had groomed Gene for the priesthood. Gene’s drive to drum was too strong, though, and he soon gave up the idea of becoming a priest. G e n e Krupa has often been considered to be the first drum soloist. Before him, drummers had usually been regarded purely as time-keepers or noise-makers, but Krupa interacted with the other musicians and introduced the extended drum solo into jazz. He is also considered the father of the modern drum set, since he convinced someone to make
tuneable tom-toms; plus, he was called on to help with developing the modern hi-hat cymbals. And here’s another milestone for you: Gene’s first recording session, in December of 1927, saw him become the first drummer to record with a bass drum.
Gene moved to New York in 1929 and the partying began. It’s always New York. He was recruited by Red Nichols and, along with Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller, performed in the pit bands. Gene had never learned to read music and ‘faked’ his parts during rehearsals. Glenn Miller assisted him by humming the drum parts until he got them down.
In the summer of 1943, Gene Krupa was arrested in San Francisco in a drug bust. He was charged with possession of marijuana and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Gene’s valet, who had been drafted, gave him marijuana cigarettes as a going-away present. Here is Gene’s own account of the event: ‘By then I was the glamour boy – 15 camel hair coats, three trunks around me all the time –and he couldn’t think what to get me. Finally he thought, “Gee I’ll get Gene some grass.” At that time California was hot as a pistol, you could park your car for a bottle of beer and get arrested. So he had a rough time getting the stuff. He probably shot his mouth off a little – “I’m getting this for the greatest guy in the world, Gene Krupa.”’
Gene decided to leave the marijuana at his hotel. Following a tip-off, the police began searching the theatre where Gene’s band was playing:
I suddenly remembered the stuff’s at the hotel where they’re going next. So I call up my new valet and say, ‘Send my laundry out. In one of my coats you’ll find some cigarettes. Throw them down the toilet.’ But the kid puts them in his pocket and the police nail him on the way out, so I get arrested… The ridiculous thing was that I was such a boozer I never thought about grass. I’d take grass, and it would put me to sleep. I was an out-and-out lush. Oh, sure, I was mad. But how long can you stay mad? So long you break out in rashes? Besides, the shock of the whole thing probably helped me. I might have gone to much worse things. It brought me back to religion.
Oasis: The Truth Page 23