by Zoe Howe
Kevin remembers Lee doing ‘a little tour of his favourite spots’, which included the Carved Angel in Dartmouth, the Sow and Pigs in Hertfordshire, not to mention Soho’s Coach and Horses and the French House, which is where Nick Lowe would see him for the last time. ‘He looked like a Medieval English professor at some red-brick university, swathed in tweeds and finishing The Times crossword, which he put away very hurriedly when I arrived. He was pretty focused that day on things he wasn’t focused on before. He was always very elegant, but towards the end there was this great knowingness.’ Whether this was a ‘knowingness’ of a more mystical nature, one can only guess. Lee was not known to be a spiritually inclined man, although, as Kevin Morris recalls, Lee surprised him one day by divulging that he’d been going to Saint Clement’s Church in Leigh for regular chats with the pastor there during recent months.
Of course, he could still be spotted at the Grand – thin but still immaculately dressed (his Soho tailor Mr Eddie having taken in his suits for free) – at the Billet and the Dr Feelgood Music Bar. There he would spend time with Sparko, among others, who noted the oddly circular nature of what was happening: the fact that they were now at the site where they used to busk outside as teenagers.
‘We’d start talking about the jug band days,’ said Sparko. ‘I said, “We should do a jug band one night.” He said, “We’d need to make an album.” Often people in these situations start making all these plans. Nothing came of it, unfortunately.’ Lee had also talked about writing a cookbook, a Brilleaux Guide (like his beloved Michelin guides) and even an autobiography. ‘It was very sad he didn’t have that time left,’ said Shirley. Maybe he’d have gone on to be a successful restaurant critic (Pete Zear insists he’d have made a great James Whale-style late-night television presenter). There’s no doubt Brilleaux packed a great deal of living into his forty-one years but there was still so much potential waiting to be fulfilled. As for whether Lee’s lifestyle had played any part in bringing on his illness, ‘that’s hard to say. He was doing what he loved,’ said Shirley. ‘I can’t picture him having done it any other way.’
‘When I look at the movies I’ve got and see the state he was in by the end of the evening, why he had to throw so much into it, I don’t know,’ said Joan. ‘I mean, he’d be dripping with perspiration. It was incredible – enough to kill anybody.
‘It strikes me now whether things would have been different if we’d stayed in Ealing … but he had a lovely life, he went around the world, absolutely everywhere.’ Well, almost everywhere. There was one place Lee had still hoped to visit. ‘He really wanted to see South Africa,’ adds Joan. ‘But he couldn’t because of apartheid, so he never did get back to see the land of his birth.’
Sparko, on first hearing of Lee’s condition, had initially dropped round to The Proceeds to see how he was. Lee had gone for a stroll, but Shirley was in. ‘We were sitting in the kitchen talking when we heard the front door open,’ said Sparko. ‘Suds called, “There’s somebody here to see you,” and the voice that came back … I was shocked. It sounded, well, it didn’t sound like Lee any more. He was quite gruff normally, but his voice had gone a lot higher.’
Life was changing – for Lee, for his family, for Chris, who was more like a brother than a friend – but, as Shirley observed, the more the reality dawned that time was short, the more ‘outrageous’ he became, especially in terms of dressing up. It was something he had always loved, not least because it gave him an opportunity to indulge in a little make-believe and confuse people in turn. The way he dressed was also something he had control over, even when he felt he had little control over what was happening to his body.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Shirley. ‘He went off the deep end with some of that stuff towards the end. After he got sick, he was like, “Fuck it, I’m getting a smoking jacket.” He also had a smoking cap with a little tassel, velvet smoking slippers, a monocle … I think Chris was quite horrified, he didn’t know what to make of it. When I offered those items up for display [for the Dr Feelgood exhibition in 2014], Chris was like, “Er, no, I don’t think so. We’ll just take the waistcoat and the harp, that’ll be fine!”’
‘I remember him dressing up as Dracula on Hallowe’en,’ adds Nicholas. ‘It was quite good, he did a really good job with his costume.’ But for the children’s birthdays Lee would be in touchingly smart dress, and as for Christmas, well, it was the smoking jacket all the way. Lee always went magnificently overboard at this time of year, as we know, but he was determined to give his family and the Fenwicks ‘the best Christmas yet’, even though it would be heartbreakingly bittersweet. Lee was frail – the outfit (‘what outfit?’ as he was known to deadpan) perhaps a deliberate distraction from his now dramatically changed appearance – and his prognosis indicated he would not be seeing another. This was not the only thing on Lee’s mind. He was quietly bereft at the thought that he might never perform again, unless something was organised quickly.
Over the festive period, Lee took Chris aside and told him he wanted to play two shows at the Dr Feelgood Music Bar, on his home turf of Canvey and with the latest line-up of the Feelgoods. Chris was dubious, and asked him to consider waiting a while. ‘You might feel a bit better,’ he said. ‘Yeah,’ replied Lee. ‘And I might feel a bit worse. I want to do the shows.’
Lee Brilleaux in his favourite place (other than the Grand) – the kitchen in The Proceeds.
The dates were booked – 24 and 25 January 1994 – and the band members were notified. ‘That was astonishing,’ said Dave Bronze. ‘I get a call from Whitey one day. “Bronzey, can you meet me and Lee down at the Billet?” Now, Lee was very ill at this stage, and it showed. I went down there and he said, “I want to do a live album at the Feelgood Bar, and I want you to take care of the technical side of it.” I said, “Are you sure?” “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.” It was just an extraordinary commitment. A live Feelgood show takes a lot out of anybody, but when you’re on your last legs, as it turns out he was …’
By New Year, Chris was still unsure. He was worried it would make Lee feel even worse, but Lee refused to cancel. He was determined, even if his loved ones were perturbed. ‘He wanted so badly to do it,’ said Shirley.
And so, on a freezing night on Canvey Island, the faithful walked into the Feelgood Bar to witness what would turn out to be the first of two final Lee Brilleaux performances. The ever loyal Chris had arranged a minder – ‘cousin Gary’ – who would assist Lee with getting on and off the stage. Chris: ‘I told Gary to stand by his side and if anyone starts coming on, get rid of them. Don’t wear gloves, be quick because I don’t want him cornered. I was trying to protect him.’
In support there would be, on one night Barrie Masters from Eddie and the Hot Rods, and on the other, Bill Hurley from the Inmates. ‘They did a little opening slot,’ explained Kevin, ‘and if Lee couldn’t carry on, they’d come and jam a few songs and take it to the end. He was fine though, he hung in there. He was very brave.’
Among the songs Lee had chosen to perform were ‘Heart Of The City’, ‘Roadrunner’ (surprisingly, a song the band had never played before), ‘Tanqueray’ (a little nod to his great love of gin), ‘Down At The Doctors’ (Lee demands sixteen bars of piano – and gets it this time) and the swampy ‘Wolfman Calling’. Lee and the band gave a spine-tingling performance of this song, which now took on a deeper meaning – perhaps the Wolf himself was now calling Brilleaux away for some harp battles on another plane.
‘I really don’t know how he managed to sing like that,’ said Sparko. However, while he’d had to remain seated throughout the shows, Lee gave a powerful, resonant vocal performance that belied his physical fragility. He had always referred to ‘the spark’ that would give him a transfiguring strength, light him up and lift him out of whatever mood he might have been in before stepping onto the stage, as if there was a kind of magic that poured through him, radiating from somewhere deep within and transmitting through every pore. Listening to the recordings o
f Brilleaux’s last ever shows, the ‘spark’ has clearly not let him down. That and ‘sheer will’, said Shirley.
‘He should never have done those shows really, but still,’ mused Lee’s mother Joan. ‘He was so pleased he did it. Little Nick came home and said, “I was really proud of my daddy.”’
Bronze had been recording the shows and, after he and Morris went through the tapes to select the best tracks, set about mixing what would become Down At The Doctors – the title a wry joke, and one that only Brilleaux could really make. The artwork was a play on the cover of Sneakin’ Suspicion: there was Lee, spivvily sparking up a cigarette under his sheepskin once more, looking startlingly elderly but still with a naughty twinkle in his eye, his band behind him, looking on. ‘He’d come back to life quite amazingly, but he still looked very different,’ said Kevin. ‘The picture on the sleeve was the only one that could be used.’
Thus Lee was granted his wish of one more album after The Feelgood Factor. Down At The Doctors came out shortly after Lee had passed away, ‘but he had heard it and he’d seen the artwork,’ said Kevin. His desire to perform again after so many months away from his beloved stage was also fulfilled, but it came at a price and he suffered a decline immediately afterwards, becoming ‘depressed,’ said Shirley.
‘He knew he had a poor prognosis, but I don’t think he realised how short his remaining time was. In the weeks after the shows, he was very low and getting weaker. In retrospect, it took a lot out of him to do that, and I don’t know if having done it, he suddenly realised he wouldn’t be doing it again.’
‘He got ill again,’ said Kevin. ‘He got a cold, just felt rough. Nothing in particular, but he knew it was the same thing coming back. I went round there one day for a cup of tea and he said, “They’ve said I’ve got to go back into hospital for chemo. But I don’t want to.” I said, “Well, don’t then.” He just couldn’t face another session.’
Lee would, instead, be cared for by the Southend Community Extended Nursing Team, who offered hospice care in his own home, and many of his friends stayed in the house to support the family as Lee started slipping away. But even towards the very end, there were still glimpses of the real Lee as he rambled and murmured, morphined up to the hilt. Colin ‘The Socialist’ Crosby remembers that ‘when he was dying, he suddenly said, “What’s for dinner?! I haven’t seen the menu yet!”’
Lee Brilleaux died on 7 April 1994 at his home in Hillside Crescent, with Shirley by his side and his family around him. ‘You never get over it,’ said Joan Collinson. ‘He was the only child I’d got. I’m so glad [Arthur] died before Lee did. He would have been absolutely heartbroken. But if there’s one thing I console myself with about his early death, he really did have a magical life.’
Lee’s funeral would take place on 15 April 1994 at Saint Clement’s Church in Leigh on Sea. Emotions were running very high that day – Chris Fenwick had written a heartfelt eulogy to his closest friend, his then wife Beverley reading it at the ceremony as Chris was too grief-stricken to deliver it himself, and Wilko Johnson, seated at the back of the church with his (now late) wife Irene and pianist John Denton, was ‘visibly upset’, as Kevin Morris recalls. During the service some well chosen pieces of music were played, including Boccherini’s Guitar Concerto (‘He was amused by the castanets,’ explains Kevin, ‘he always chuckled when they came in’) and ‘Roadrunner’ by Junior Walker and the All Stars. It was at this point that Wilko, according to John Denton, ‘dissolved into tears. He was inconsolable. Up until that point he’d just been staring ahead. It was difficult. He was never very touchy-feely, I didn’t know whether to hug him – fortunately Irene was there to do that. I think he just realised all those years had been wasted for this nonsense feud.’
Sadly, Lee had hoped to see Wilko before he died, but Wilko was in conflict about going over to see him. He too wanted to finally put the past behind them but ‘we’d not seen each other for years … and I really wanted one of them to come and get me and take me there to see him, I didn’t want to just go round. So I never did see him.’
‘It was ridiculous, really,’ said Malcolm. ‘Because Lee and Wilko were great friends and had so much in common, that you would have thought that that would overcome any other problems. It was so final, he should have done it. I should have tried harder to get him to go because I knew he would regret it. But there we are, I’m not good at persuading someone as strong-willed as Wilko.’
After the service, and a ceremony at Southend Crematorium for close family, the funeral party migrated to Canvey Island for the wake at the Feelgood Bar. ‘I’d never been there before,’ said Wilko. ‘It was a really nice club and there were some great pictures of Lee and all of us.’ Musicians took to the stage, raised their pints and played songs in honour of the man they were all there to celebrate. Chris Fenwick approached Wilko and asked if he’d like to get up and play a number. ‘I got up and I realised it was me, Sparko and Figure [on the stage]. We played “Back In The Night”, and, of course, there was an empty space in the middle. Fucking hell, it was a fantastic feeling, not a sad feeling. Lee’s absence really just showed how strong his presence had been.’
And that presence was still making itself felt, and assertively too. His final resting place certainly appeared to have been decided by the man himself, according to Shirley. ‘When Lee had passed away, I was so distraught by the whole thing. He’d been cremated and I could not – and I tried – I could not bring myself to go and pick up his remains. I was traumatised by the entire experience, and it freaked me out … the thought of having his ashes, I couldn’t get my head around it. Thankfully Dave Bronze and [his partner] Julie went to get them for me. But I didn’t know what I was going to do with them.
‘Shortly before I left for the States, I was clearing the house, still living there – that alone was a horrible experience. I was cleaning out the cupboard under the stairs where there were boxes of Lee’s old papers, blues magazines, bits and pieces – frankly I didn’t even realise most of that stuff was there. I was going through it and I found a map, much like the “Map of the World”, with “X marks the spot” on this little island in the Estuary between Canvey and Benfleet where he used to play as a kid. I was like, “That’s where his ashes need to be scattered.” It was like Lee was saying, “Here! This is where I want it, please, right here.” It was like an epiphany.
‘Our friends Nick and Erica Finegan had helped me enormously, and Nick was working on the lifeboats out of Southend at that time. I said to Nick, “Would it be possible for you to take the ashes out and scatter them over the little area in this map?” He was supposed to do that the day before we left for the US. But the tide was not where it needed to be. He said, “I’m going to have to do it after you’ve gone.” I couldn’t control the tides and I was in no condition to even try and think my way around that.
‘Nick did it and he called me afterwards. He said, “And I threw a pack of Rothmans and a harp into the water.” Apparently he got a call to rescue someone so it was cut short. But I did feel like that was where Lee needed to be.’
Chris Fenwick
For a man that appeared to have no great show business ambition, Lee was truly amazing at what he did. I guess he didn’t have to have ambition, because his show performance was so natural to him that it gave him the long career that he had. Our professional partnership lasted for over twenty-five years, until Lee died. The personal relationship between us was always good, and we had great trust in one another. Lee actually had a very cool head through all the madness, and kept intact a very good lawyer’s brain.
While the early years of Dr Feelgood were very exciting and a great rollercoaster ride – and quite frankly a lot of the time passed in a completely drunken and stoned haze – our focus was always on doing our best at making each gig as good as possible. Lee’s persona on stage was something that slowly developed over the years, and his command over his musicians and the audience was truly magic. He had the ability to wind an au
dience up within the first few numbers, then take things down to a cruise position, and then ram it home at the end, getting the whole building into a complete rock’n’roll frenzy. It wasn’t unusual to do three or four encores every night. In fact, as management, it was always difficult to shut the show down.
People often ask me what is my favourite period as manager of Dr Feelgood. After a lot of thought, I’ve decided it was the 1980s, when Lee became a man on the stage as opposed to being a boy. He came out of the earlier rock’n’roll frenzy, and developed into an experienced, well-crafted, sincere performer, who would have audiences eating out of his hand at every show.
Lee always had time for fans. He was truly loved and respected worldwide.
The first Lee Brilleaux memorial concert would take place at the Feelgood Bar on what would have been Lee’s forty-second birthday, just one month after his passing, and the event would become an annual tradition for the next two decades, attracting fans from all over the world and artists who knew and loved Lee, playing for charity (initially SCENT and then the Fairhavens cancer charity) and paying tribute. Twenty years after Lee Brilleaux moved on, this comparatively underrated figure remains respected, practically worshipped by some, and certainly still looked to as a barometer of savoir-faire.
At the time of writing, there’s a campaign to rename Southend Airport ‘Lee Brilleaux Airport’, as with Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport, while the artist Scott King has proposed a plan for a majestic 300ft golden statue of Brilleaux to stand by the Kursaal, like the Colossus of Southend. The suggested height may have been tongue in cheek, but it’s indicative of how highly Brilleaux is regarded. The legendarily modest Lee would surely have been touched and embarrassed in turn.